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Confucius - Lamenting The Absence Of A Cherished Friend
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Though small my basket, all my toil
    Filled it with mouse-ears but in part.
  I set it on the path, and sighed
    For the dear master of my heart.

  My steeds, o`er-tasked, their progress stayed,
    When midway up that rocky height.
  Give me a cup from that gilt vase--
    When shall this longing end in sight?

  To mount that lofty ridge I drove,
    Until my steeds all changed their hue.
  A cup from that rhinoceros`s horn
    May help my longing to subdue.

  Striving to reach that flat-topped hill,
    My steeds, worn out, relaxed their strain;
  My driver also sank oppressed:--
    I`ll never see my lord again!
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