Twisting into thread
Cannot be done with it, yet
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My lord hangs
Garlands of Mikasa Mountain's
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While I have not gone
To the mountains of Yoshino,
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On account of rain
To Tamino Isle, raincoat clad,
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Though I dip
Within the wave
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Now a few days
Of Spring is all that remains, so
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The coverlet of isles that makes
Yamato does not hold
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The woodcutters
Are felling palace logs all day, it seems,
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The waves offshore
Rise high; on the beach at Takashi
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The morning mists
Descends upon the late-growing mountain fields;
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This world of men
Is such a place:
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Throughout the span of man
It flows along:
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To bygone days
Still returns
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'This is when he came,' I think,
Still full of longing;
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Let's get together,
Say, and dear
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The cuckoo's
Calling cry this morning
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On Mount Ogura's
Peak, he is wont to stand:
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In the land of Tsu
At Naniwa the reed
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You are gone
As has the smoke
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The first geese
Wing over wailing (Weeping I pass my days); for
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In the summer mountains
From the treetop heights
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My thoughts are drawn
To a white mountain in Koshi
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On the path of dreams
Has there been dewfall, perhaps?
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At Yoshino River
Waves crash high above the rocks;
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When the spring has come,
First flowering at my house
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As the snow falls down,
Sealing in Winter
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To the fields of Kasuga
To gather fresh herbs,
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Cranes among the reeds
Standing by the water's edge:
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Harvesting wild rice
Among the marsh waters of the Yodo:
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From the first bloom
And ever since that time
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