The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2How goes the night? I may not slumber on.
Although not yet the night is wholly gone,
The paling torchlight in the court below
Gives token that the hours swift-footed go.
Already at the gate my lords appear;
Their tinkling bells with measured sound draw near.
3How goes the night? I may not slumber now.
The darkness smiles with morning on its brow.
The courtyard torch no more gives forth its ray,
But heralds with its smoke the coming day.
My princes pass the gate, and gather there;
I see their banners floating in the air.