Classic Poem

Fearsome even to allow in mind,
ineffable and awesome even to put in words,
our sovereign familiar with the eight corners
who made the awesome decision
and set up his heavenly imperial gate
in Makami Field of Asuka,
but who now, god that he is, hides under the rock,
crossed Mount Fuwa of tall trees
in the province to the north where he was heard,
descended and was seated in the temporary palace
in Wazami Field of the Korean sword.
There to govern all-under-heaven
and determine the domain to be ruled,
he summoned imperial warriors
from Azuma Province where roosters call
and commissioned our prince, his child though he was,
to soften the storm-like people
and sway the disobedient provinces.
Thereupon the prince armed his body with a sword,
grasped a bow in his hand,
and called the warriors to order.
The drums that line men up
sounded like thunder,
the lesser horns they blew resounded
till people thought in terror
tigers roared, sighting an enemy.
The sway of the banners they held lifted
was like the sway in wind
of the flames left burning on every field
when, after holing up for winter, the spring comes.
The commotion of the bowstrings they made
was awesome to hear, making men think
of a whirlwind swooping
through the snow-falling winter wood.
The arrows they shot were so thick,
coming as turbulent as great snow,
even the unsubmissive rising to fight
did not mind perishing, if they must, like dew or frost
as they vied like darting birds. At that moment,
from the holy shrine at Watarai
the prince unleashed a divine wind, confounding them,
and by not showing the sun's eye in heaven's clouds
and shrouding all in utter darkness
brought peace to this rice-rich country.
Being a god, building thick pillars,
our sovereign familiar with the eight corners —
his realm it was that our sovereign
accepted.
So, we thought his rule, as it was,
would remain for thousands of ages,
and it did prosper like a blossom of mulberry cloth.
But then the prince's gate
was adorned as a shrine for a god.
The gate people he employed
wore white-cloth hempen robes
and through the madder-bright days
crawled, prostrated themselves, looking like deer
in the field before the gate at Haniyasu.
When evening came, black as leopard-flower seeds,
looking back at the great hall,
they crawled and lingered like quail.
Unable to serve him as they wished,
they moaned and cried like spring birds.
But before their grief had passed,
before their thoughts had run dry,
through the uncertain Kudara Plain
he went for burial, for divine burial
and they exalted as an eternal shrine
the shrine at Kinohe of the good hempen robes,
where, being a god, he settled in peace.
For all this, our sovereign
built the palace on Mount Kagu,
meaning it to last for thousands of ages —
how can I think it will pass away in thousands of years?
Looking back at it as at heaven,
I'll keep it bound in my thoughts like a robe-tucking sash,
awesome though it is.

ENVOYS

Though you have come to rule eternal heaven, I keep longing for you, not knowing the
days and months

Like the hidden marsh near the bank of Haniyasu Pond, not knowing where to go,
your servants are lost