Classic Poem

When I entered through the pine grove, the pine grove
An old house glowing with light would appear.

There
Was the autumn of chirping insects
Also the moonlit night of snow-covered field.

In the evenings when the white lilies spewed fragrance,
People with white hands
Talked about the deer
Biting on a pistil in the folding screen.

When I enter through the pine grove, the pine grove
Even now
Like a legend,
The light would appear from the old house but—

I shiver,
Lest I recall many stories
With my heart as gentle as a dove . . .