The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2In the old capital they wore
T‘ai hats and black caps small;
And ladies, who famed surnames bore,
Their own thick hair let fall.
Such simple ways are seen no more,
And the changed manners I deplore. p. 317
3Ear stoppers, made of sew stones fine,
In the old days were worn.
Each lady of a noble line
A Yin or Chi seemed born.
Such officers and ladies now
I see not, and my sorrows grow.
4With graceful sweep their girdles fell,
Then in the days of old.
The ladies’ side hair, with a swell,
Like scorpion's tail, rose bold.
Such, if I saw them in these days,
I'd follow with admiring gaze.
5So hung their girdles, not for show;—
To their own length ’twas due.
’Twas not by art the hair curled so;—
By nature so it grew.
I seek such manners now in vain,
And pine for them with longing pain.