One-sided love:
Even I hate
this sorry self of mine —
so hate me,
and I'll know we share
at least that emotion

Looking over poems by persons of long ago when compiling the anthology Senzaishu :
Years to come
will there be those
who wish they'd known me too? —
like me, letting their mind
dwell on the past

Dawn:
On my boxwood pillow
I strain to catch it —
the sad note of the temple bell
telling us it's dawn

Congratulations:
Our lord's reign —
I would not have it
be a thousand years,
but endless as the moon and sun
coming out from heaven's door

Living alone:
I hug myself and again it's hard to breathe in the cold of night

The fifteenth of the eighth month:
If only my heart were as it is normally — today's moon!

This metal is engraved with Shang-style markings:
you certainly get credit for the greatest marvel
on earth!
Some future year, I'll wear it, as I enter deep
into the mountains:
at the peak of Heaven's Eye, I'll stamp it
on the white clouds.

Forty li through Chü-yung Pass,
twisting ridges, doubled peaks: we wind in and out.
Beside the road, stone-cut inscriptions no one can read:
all of them are from the former dynasty,
written in Mongolian!

Your weeping gray streets
inhabit my memory
and go with me to the cities where glory is,
they cry when we see the clean-washed streets,
the glad houses,
ask me:
How will our people
and our roads emerge from the age of tears?

The trains roll over my heart
when they run South
and my bones are littered over the Northern rocks.
Why, when I yearn, do the trains' eyes become my window,
the sound of the train my tears?
Why should I be torn apart,
then tossed away by exile?