Classic Poem

She:
Curl-grass, curl-grass,
to pick it, to pluck it
to put in a bucket
never a basket load
Here on Zhou road, but a man in my mind!
Put it down here by the road.

He:
Pass, pass
up over the pass,
a horse on a mountain road!
A winded horse on a high road,
give me a drink to lighten the load
As the cup is gilt, love is spilt.
Pain lasteth long.

Black horses, yellow with sweat,
are not come to the ridge-top yet
Drink deep of the rhino horn
But leave not love too long forlorn.

Tho' driver stumble and horses drop,
we come not yet to the stony top.
Let the foundered team keep on,
How should I leave my love alone!