The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, [1876], at sacred-texts.com
2Around the creepers thickly spread,
On the green banks of the Ho. p. 82
My native soil no more I tread;
Into exile forth I go.
Far removed from kindred all,
Mother I a stranger call.
Though so called, she does not deign
Me as child to entertain.
3Around the creepers thickly spread,
On the bank lips of the Ho.
My native soil no more I tread;
Into exile forth I go.
Far from all who bear my name,
Elder brother I would claim
In a stranger, but he spurns
Such a claim, and from me turns.