| Text(Edward G. Seidensticker; The Tale of Genji） |
| <Purple Trousers> p484-03 "Dew-drenched purple trousers: I grieve as you do And long for, the smallest hint that you understand." <His Perfumed Highness> p739-35 He would brush a spray of plum blossoms below the veranda and the spring rain dripping from it would become a perfume for others who passed. The masterless purple trousers would reject their own perfume for his. <His Perfumed Highness> p739-40 The blending of perfumes would become his work for days on end. In the spring he would gaze inquiringly up at the blossoming plum, and in the autumn he would neglect the maiden flower of which poets have so much and the hagi beloved of the stag, and instead keep beside him, all withered and unsightly, the chrysanthemum "heedless of age" and purple trousers, also sadly faded, and the burnet that has so little to recommend it in the first place. Perfumes were central to his pursuit of good taste. |