On a road that leads to Otsu, as I came over the mountain path:
Coming by a mountain path — elegant somehow, violets

Cold night:
A pot splits, and the night ice wakes me

The chrysanthemum didn't spill a dewdrop, now frozen

Bright moon: strolling around the pond all night long

To have a noontime rest I sat in a shop for travelers:
Azaleas arranged, and by them a woman slivers dried cod

At Takadachi in Oshu:
Summer grass: where the warriors used to dream

At night secretly a worm bores a chestnut under the moon

At my house small mosquitoes are the best I can offer

As if touching a boil a willow bends

An old pond: a frog jumps in — the sound of water