II. Ch‘ih Hsiao
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The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, [1876], at sacred-texts.com
p. 174
II
And do not, owl, destroy my nest.
You have taken my young,
Though I over them hung,
With the nursing of love and of care.
Pity me, pity me! Hear my prayer.
2Ere the clouds the sky had obscured,
The mulberry roots I secured.
Door and window around,
Them so firmly I bound,
That I said, casting downward my eyes,
"Dare any of you my house despise?"
3I tugged with my claws and I tore,
And my mouth and my claws were sore.
So the rushes I sought,
And all other things brought;
For to perfect the house I was bent,
And I grudged no toil with this intent. p. 175
4My wings are deplorably torn,
And my tail is much injured and worn.
Tossed about by the wind,
While the rain beats unkind,
Oh! my house is in peril of harm,
And this note I scream out in alarm.
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