A Mphora plena! mei Titulo res digna Sepalchri: Hujus ero vivus, mortaus hujus ero.

Thus said Kingstone , When I die,
Write me a Liquid Elegy: Write,
Here lies One, who thought no Harm in
A large, capacious Bellar-min:
But chose it for his Urn, to lie in;
Thirsty Living, Thirsty Dying.

Mingling (my prayer)
With the clang of the bell
Which woke me from my dreams,
Lo, ten times I have recited the Honourable Name.

The flowered woods have dropped their springtime rose festoon,
So soon, so soon
But night-blowing winds and the cold dawn rain were bound to be.
Your tear-stained rouge will keep me
Drinking here beside you
Then — who knows when again?
Out lives are sad like rivers turning always toward the sea.

On whom can it have relied
That they would soon come,
This matsu-mushi whose cry
Shows that it finds a constant difficulty
In getting through the autumn night?

The spring rain
Which hangs to the branches
Of the green willow
Looks like pearls
Threaded on a string.

As for this world,
That way or this way —
It is the same thing;
For both palace and cottage
Come to nothing in the end.

The rotten-wooded willow
At the road side
When Spring comes,
Yearns bitterly for old times.

On to my high roof
Climbing, when I look out
(I see) smoke rising:
The people's kitchens
Are in a flourishing condition!

The timber-river's
Raft's bottom's
Floating pillow
In summer a cool
Bed-chamber becomes.

To what shall I compare
This world?
To the white wake behind
A ship that has rowed away