|I have no regrets as I bid farewell to this life.
Yet the dying away of the fire is always sad.
|Our prayers, the first of them borne in on brushwood,
Shall last the thousand years of the Blessed One's toils.
|Although these holy rites must be my last,
The bond will endure for all the lives to come.
|For all of us the time of rites is brief,
More durable by far the bond between us.
|So briefly rests the dew upon the hagi.
Even now it scatters in the wind.
|In the haste we make to leave this world of dew,
May there be no time between the first and last.
|A world of dew before the autumn winds.
Not only theirs, these fragile leaves of grass.
|I remember an autumn evening long ago
As a dream in the dawn when we were left behind.
|It is as if that autumn had come again
And tears for the one were falling on tears for the other.
|The dews of now are the dews of long ago,
And autumn is always the saddest time of all.
|She did not like the autumn, that I knew―
Because of the wasted moors that now surround us?
|Look down upon me from your cloudy summit,
Upon the dying autumn which is my world.