The Book of Odes, by L. Cranmer-Byng, , at sacred-texts.com
White birds went over the West—
Young egrets, over the marshlands flying,
My Lords came visiting, ermine-dressed,
With the birds in their elegant beauty vieing.
In their States they have high renown,
Of the city of Chow they are never tiring,
And the rivers of night wind darkly down
Past the towers of their fame still aspiring.