The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2Her pheasant-figured robe resplendent shines,
Her hair, jet-black, cloudlike surmounts her head;
Her own, no false locks with it she entwines.
Then see her ear plugs, of the precious jade;
Her comb pin, of the finest ivory made;
And her high forehead, shining pure and white. p. 51
Like visitant come down from heaven, arrayed
In fashion thus, for sacrificial rite,—
Well may we goddess call her, and no earthly wight.
3At court now see her, on occasions great,
To meet the ruler, or guests entertain!
As rich and splendid is her robe of state,
With muslin ’neath it of the finest grain,
Which takes the place of warmer garment plain.
Her eyes are clear, with forehead broad and high,
Which the full temples on each side sustain.
With woman such as this how few can vie!
The beauty of the land, she charms the gazing eye!