The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2Ere the clouds the sky had obscured,
The mulberry roots I secured.
Door and window around,
Them so firmly I bound,
That I said, casting downward my eyes,
"Dare any of you my house despise?"
3I tugged with my claws and I tore,
And my mouth and my claws were sore.
So the rushes I sought,
And all other things brought;
For to perfect the house I was bent,
And I grudged no toil with this intent. p. 175
4My wings are deplorably torn,
And my tail is much injured and worn.
Tossed about by the wind,
While the rain beats unkind,
Oh! my house is in peril of harm,
And this note I scream out in alarm.