The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2All through the fields I traveled sad,
And for my food the sheep's-foot cooked.
Through our relationship, to you
For lodging for a time I looked.
But me you show no wish to entertain;—
Back to my kindred now I go again!
3All through the fields I went and tried
Hunger with pokeweed to appease.
I came to you; your love is cold;
And your new mate you seek to please.
Grant that your heart her riches have not won,—
Her charms are new; my relative's are gone!