The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, [1876], at sacred-texts.com
2The mulberry trees and fields of maize,
Thou yellow-plumaged bird, eschew!
These people are a dullard race;
I long my brethren's face to view.
That we judged ill, when we came here,
Does from their cold neglect appear.
3Thou yellow-plumaged bird, O fly
Those oak trees, nor the millet eat!
From this bad land I back must hie;—
I long my father's kin to greet.
That we judged ill, when we came here,
Does from their cold neglect appear.