The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2Free let the brilliant white colt eat
The bean sprouts growing in my yard.
Secure it by the neck and feet,
This evening's joy thus safely guard.
Its owner, cherished in my heart,
Shall then be here, a guest admired.
O could I wile him from the part
He wants to play, from men retired!
3O leave thy colt of brilliant white!
If thou to me would’st blithely come,
As duke or marquis, honors bright
Thou should’st obtain, and in thy home
Find endless joy. Try to restrain,
With strictest curb, thy roaming mind:
And from the hermit life refrain,
To which thou art so much inclined.
4’Tis vain. The brilliant white colt view,
Deep in that empty valley stand,
Before it placed a bundle new
Of grass plucked by its master's hand.
That master as a gem I hold.
O that, relenting, he may send
What I'll prize more than gems or gold,—
News that he still remains my friend!