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The K'e still ripples to its banks,
The moorfowl cry.
My hair was gathered in a knot,
And you came by.


Selling of silk you were, a lad
Not of our kin;
You passed at sunset on the road
From far-off Ts'in.


The frogs were croaking in the dusk;
The grass was wet.
We walked together, and I laughed;
I hear it yet.


I thought that I would be your wife;
I had your word.
And so I took the road with you,
And crossed the ford.


I do not know when first it was
Your eyes looked cold.
But all this was three years ago,
And I am old.