A single rabbit on the mat,
Roasted or baked:—no feast we think!
But from the spirit vase they take,
Both host and guests, and joyous drink.
~On the Misery of Soldiers~
Yellow now is all the grass;
All the days in marching pass.
On the move is every man;
Hard work, far and near, they plan.
Black is every plant become;
Every man is torn from home.
Kept on foot, our state is sad;—
As if we no feelings had!
Not rhinoceroses we!
Tigers do we care to be?
Fields like these so desolate
Are to us a hateful fate.
Long-tailed foxes pleased may hide
'Mong the grass, where they abide.
We, in box carts slowly borne,
On the great roads plod and mourn.
PART III.—GREATER ODES OF THE KINGDOM
BOOK I
DECADE OF KING WAN
~Celebrating King Wan~