|And why has spring so graciously come to visit
A lodging where there is none to admire the blossoms?
|You take me for the usual viewer of blossoms?
If that is so. I seek their fragrance in vain.
|The snow will soon have left this gloomy world.
My days must yet go on, an aimless drifting.
|The warbler has come again. It does not know
That the mistress of its tree is here no more.
|Taking the final step, I must abandon
The springtime hedge that meant so much to her.
|I wept and wept as I made my slow way homewards.
It is a world in which nothing lasts forever.
|The wild goose has flown, the seedling rice is dry.
Gone is the blossom the water once reflected.
|It is the day of the donning of summer robes,
And must there be a renewal of memories?
|Thin as the locust's wing, these summer robes,
Reminders of the fragility of life.
|With heartvine we garland our hair―and you forget!
All overgrown the urn, so long neglected.
|The things of this world mean little to me now.
And yet I find myself reaching to break off heartvine.
|Have you come, O cuckoo, drenched in nighttime showers,
In memory of her who is no more?
|Go tell her this. O cuckoo: the orange blossoms
Where once she lived are now their loveliest.
|I can but pass a summer's day in weeping.
Is that your pretext, O insects, for weeping too?
|The firefly knows that night has come, and I―
My thoughts do not distinguish night from day.
|They meet these stars m a world beyond the clouds.
My tears but join the dews of the garden of parting.
|This day, we are told, announces an end to mourning.
How can it be, when there is no end to tears?
|The days are numbered for him who yet must mourn.
And are they numbered, the tears that yet remain?
|On other mornings we took the elixir together.
This morning lonely sleeves are wet with dew.
|O wizard flying off through boundless heavens,
Find her whom I see not even in my dreams.
|Our lads go off to have their Day of Light. ‡
For me it is as if there were no sun
|I seek to follow the tracks of a lady now gone
To another world. Alas, I lose my way.
|I gather sea grasses no more, nor look upon them.
Now they are smoke, to join her in distant heavens.
|Put blossoms in your caps today. Who knows
That there will still be life when spring comes round?
|I pray that these blossoms may last a thousand springs,
For me the years are as the deepening snowdrifts.
|I have not taken account of the days and months.
The end of the year―the end of a life as well?