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The Book of Odes, by L. Cranmer-Byng, [1908], at sacred-texts.com
He has perched in the valley with pines over-grown,
This fellow so stout and so merry and free;
He sleeps and he talks and he wanders alone,
And none are so true to their pleasures as he.
He has builded his hut in the bend of the mound,
This fellow so fine with his satisfied air;
He wakes and he sings with no neighbour around,
And whatever betide him his home will be there.
He dwells on a height amid cloudland and rain,
This fellow so grand whom the world blunders by;
He slumbers alone, wakes, and slumbers again,
And his secrets are safe in that valley of Wei.