russet pear-tree rises all alone,
But rich the growth of leaves upon it shown!
I walk alone, without one brother left,
And thus of natural aid am I bereft.
Plenty of people there are all around,
But none like my own father's sons are found.
Ye travellers, who forever hurry by,
Why on me turn the unsympathizing eye?
No brother lives with whom my cause to plead;--
Why not perform for me the helping deed?

A russet pear-tree rises all alone,
But rich with verdant foliage o'ergrown.
I walk alone, without one brother's care,
To whom I might, amid my straits repair.
Plenty of people there are all around,
But none like those of my own name are found.
Ye travellers, who forever hurry by,
Why on me turn the unsympathizing eye?
No brother lives with whom my cause to plead;--
Why not perform for me the helping deed?

~The Drawbacks of Poverty~

On the left of the way, a russet pear-tree
Stands there all alone--a fit image of me.
There is that princely man! O that he would come,
And in my poor dwelling with me be at home!
In the core of my heart do I love him, but say,
Whence shall I procure him the wants of the day?

At the bend in the way a russet pear-tree
Stands there all alone--a fit image of me.
There is that princely man! O that he would come,
And rambling with me be himself here at home!
In the core of my heart I love him, but say,
Whence shall I procure him the wants of the day?

~A Wife Mourns for Her Husband~

The dolichos grows and covers the thorn,
O'er the waste is the dragon-plant creeping.
The man of my heart is away and I mourn--
What home have I, lonely and weeping?

Covering the jujubes the dolichos grows,
The graves many dragon-plants cover;
But where is the man on whose breast I'd repose?
No home have I, having no lover!

Fair to see was the pillow of horn,
And fair the bed-chamber's adorning;
But the man of my heart is not here, and I mourn
All alone, and wait for the morning.

While the long days of summer pass over my head,
And long winter nights leave their traces,
I'm alone! Till a hundred of years shall have fled,
And then I shall meet his embraces.

Through the long winter nights I am burdened with fears,
Through the long summer days I am lonely;
But when time shall have counted its hundreds of years
I then shall be his--and his only!

BOOK XI