Come to listen
To the basket-worms,
To my lowly hut.

With all the waters of the season's rain
The Mogami doth rush into the main.

White gleam the gulls across the darkling tide,
On the green hills the red flowers seem to burn;
Alas! I see another spring has died ...
When will it come — the day of my return?

The snow we two beheld —
Hath it come down again this year?

That great flake of snow which has just floated
over the lake was a white heron.

Motionless, at the end of a sand bank, the white heron
watches the winter.

Cloud-like garments, flower face,
Lattice which spring breezes trace,
Such are seen on Jade Hill Heights,
Or some moonlit, mystic place.

The old pond!
A frog leapt into —
List, the water sound!

ADDITIONAL PROOFS

Lesbia heaps upon me foul words, her spouse being present;
Which to that simple soul causes the fullest delight.
Mule! naught sensest thou: did she forget us in silence,
Whole she had been; but now whatso she rails and she snarls,
Not only dwells in her thought, but worse and even more risky,
Wrathful she bides: which means, she is afire and she fumes!

The autumn gloaming deepens into night;
Black 'gainst the slowly-fading orange light,
On withered bough a lonely crow is sitting.

The end of autumn, and some rooks
Are perched upon a withered branch.