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Solitary stands the russet pear tree ,
With its fruit so bright .
The king's business must not be slackly performed ,
And the days are prolonged with us one after another .
The sun and moon are in the tenth month .
My woman's heart is wounded ;
My soldier might have leisure [to return] !

Solitary stands the russet pear tree ,
With its leaves so luxuriant .
The king's business must not be slackly performed ,
And my heart is wounded and sad .
The plants and trees are luxuriant ,
But my heart is sad .
O that my soldier might return !

I ascended that hill in the north ,
To gather the medlars .
The king's business must not be slackly performed ,
And our parents are made sorrowful .
His chariot of sandal wood must be damaged ;
His four horses must be worn out ;
My soldier cannot be far off .

They have not packed up , they do not come ;
My sorrowing heart is greatly distressed .
The time is past , and he is not here ,
To the multiplication of my sorrows .
Both by the tortoise shell and the reeds have I divined ,
And they unite in saying he is near .
My soldier is at hand !