The K'e

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.