On dashed my four steeds, without halt, without stay,
Though toilsome and winding from Chow was the way.
I wished to return--but the monarch's command
Forbade that his business be done with slack hand;
And my heart was with sadness oppressed.
On dashed my four steeds; I ne'er slackened the reins.
They snorted and panted--all white, with black manes.
I wished to return, but our sovereign's command
Forbade that his business be done with slack hand;--
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem