The Book of Odes, by L. Cranmer-Byng, [1908]
Këen-Kwan the axles cried,
As I drove to claim my bride.
Hunger for her beauty presses,
I am parched for her caresses;
Though we lack good company,
We shall revel—I and she.
Dense the forest in the plain,
Where the long-tailed pheasants reign;
Happy is the house that owns her,
Where a lover's choice enthrones her.
Pledge me while I praise you, dear!
Love shall ever need you near.
Though I have but little wine,
Love makes little cups divine.
Though but one poor meal await us,
Simple fare shall amply sate us;
Though small worth is mine to bring,
Gaily we will dance and sing.
Yon tall ridges I ascend
And the stubborn firewood rend.
When the riven oaks are ringing
All my thoughts fly homeward winging;
Though their green abysses hide,
My whole heart is satisfied.
[paragraph continues] Yon dim mountains disappear,
On the road the course is clear.
Gathering hooves go loudly drumming,
Reins like lute-strings join their thrumming;
Till beside the open door,
She is in my arms once more.