The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2Ancestral sway is his. The walls they rear,
Five thousand cubits long; and south and west
The doors are placed. Here will the king appear,
Here laugh, here talk, here sit him down and rest.
4Grand is the hall the noble lord ascends;—
In height, like human form most reverent, grand;
And straight, as flies the shaft when bow unbends;
Its tints, like hues when pheasant's wings expand.
5High pillars rise the level court around;
The pleasant light the open chamber steeps;
And deep recesses, wide alcoves, are found,
Where our good king in perfect quiet sleeps.
6Laid is the bamboo mat on rush mat square;—
Here shall he sleep, and, waking, say, "Divine,
What dreams are good? For bear and grisly bear
And snakes and cobras, haunt this couch of mine."
8Sons shall be his,—on couches lulled to rest.
The little ones, enrobed, with scepters play;
Their infant cries are loud as stern behest;
Their knees the vermeil covers shall display.
As king hereafter one shall be addressed;
The rest, our princes, all the states shall sway.
9And daughters also to him shall be born.
They shall be placed upon the ground to sleep;
Their playthings tiles, their dress the simplest worn;
Their part alike from good and ill to keep,
And ne’er their parents’ hearts to cause to mourn;
To cook the food, and spirit malt to steep.