The K'e still ripples to its banks,
The moorfowl cry.
My hair was gathered in a knot,
And you came by.

Selling of silks you were,
A lad not of our kin;
You passed at sunset on the road
From far-off Ts'in.

The frogs were croaking in the dusk;
The grass was wet.
We talked together, and I laughed;
I hear it yet.

I thought that I would be your wife;
I had your word.
And so I took the road with you,
And cross the ford.

I do not know when first it was
your eyes looked cold.
But all this was three years ago,
And I am old.