When one stands on a slab of stone,
No higher than the ground,
Nothing is added to his height;--
Low with the stone he's found.
So does the favorite's mean estate
Render that great man mean,
While I by him, to distance sent,
Am pierced with sorrow keen.
~Hospitality~
A few gourd leaves that waved about
Cut down and boiled;--the feast how spare!
But the good host his spirits takes,
Pours out a cup, and proves them rare.
A single rabbit on the mat,
Or baked, or roast:--how small the feast!
But the good host his spirits takes,
And fills the cup of every guest.
A single rabbit on the mat,
Roasted or broiled:--how poor the meal!
But the guests from the spirit vase
Fill their host's cup, and drink his weal.
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.
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