An Old Man's Thoughts
Lonelier still than last year, you know, this autumn evening

At Kaya in Tamba
Delight of crossing a summer river, sandals in hand

In autumn, on the day when there was a storm, I went to Gojo. As I took my leave:
Like tinkling gems, neither dewdrops nor tears stay — at the house where I long for the one who's dead, or in the autumn wind

A moment and its lustre fell,
But ere it met the billow blue,
He caught within his crimson bell,
A droplet of its sparkling dew —
Joy to thee, Fay! thy task is done,
Thy wings are pure, for the gem is won —
Cheerly ply thy dripping oar,
And haste away to the elfin shore.

Wrapped in musing stands the sprite:
'Tis the middle wane of night,
His task is hard, his way is far,
But he must do his errand right
Ere dawning mounts her beamy car,
And rolls her chariot wheels of light;
And vain are the spells of fairy-land,
He must work with a human hand.

The elfin cast a glance around,
As he lighted down from his courser toad,
Then round his breast his wings he wound,
And close to the river's brink he strode;
He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer,
Above his head his arms he threw,
Then tossed a tiny curve in air,
And headlong plunged in the waters blue.

96 Saturday, 16 February 1751

Quod si Platonis musa personat verum,
Quod quisque discit, immemor recordatur.
Boethius [III xi 15]

Truth in platonic ornaments bedeck'd,
Inforc'd we love, unheeding recollect.

These long verandahs seem to be washed clean
of dust and noise;
whitewashed walls encircle monks' quarters
with roofs of turquoise tile.
I walk along slowly, chanting poems to myself as I go,
and the evening breeze blows the plantain leaves
into confused patterns.

At the lacquered table — my recent calligraphy
flows effortlessly;
time and again I wield my brush at the solitude
of my window.
But I am sorry to find that too much of a good thing
can become a burden,
as I sweat away, brushing fans of calligraphy for people!

Around the temple, pines and cedars —
nearly a hundred trees.
The bright color of a single flower penetrates the green.
The cool evening breeze fans it where it grows
beside the pond,
wafting its gentle fragrance across the water.