_Travelling_
Miyako-bird! if not in vain men give Thy pleasing name, my question deign to hear:-- And has she pa.s.s"d away, my darling dear, Or doth she still for Narihira live?
_Narihira._
XXVIII
_Love_
The barest ledge of rock, if but a seed Alight upon it, lets the pine-tree grow:-- If, then, thy love for me be love indeed, We"ll come together, dear; it must be so!
_Anon._
XXIX
_Love_
There is on earth a thing more bootless still Than to write figures on a running stream:-- And that thing is (believe me if you will) To dream of one who ne"er of you doth dream.
_Anon._
x.x.xI
_Love_
Since that first night when, bath"d in hopeless tears, I sank asleep, and he I love did seem To visit me, I welcome ev"ry dream, Sure that they come as heav"n-sent messengers.
_Komachi._
x.x.xII
_Love_
Methinks my tenderness the gra.s.s must be, Clothing some mountain desolate and lone; For though it daily grows luxuriantly, To ev"ry mortal eye "tis still unknown.
_Yoshiki._
x.x.xIII
_Love_
Upon the causeway through the land of dreams Surely the dews must plentifully light:-- For when I"ve wandered up and down all night, My sleeve"s so wet that nought will dry its streams.
_Tsurayuki._
x.x.xIV
_Love_
Fast fall the silv"ry dews, albeit not yet "Tis autumn weather; for each drop"s a tear, Shed till the pillow of my hand is wet, As I wake from dreaming of my dear.
_Anon._
x.x.xV
_Love_
I ask"d my soul where springs th" ill-omened seed That bears the herb of dull forgetfulness;[155]
And answer straightway came:--Th" accursed weed Grows in that heart which knows no tenderness.
_Sosei._
x.x.xVI
_Elegies_[156]
So frail our life, perchance to-morrow"s sun May never rise for me. Ah! well-a-day!
Till comes the twilight of the sad to-day, I"ll mourn for thee, O thou beloved one!
_Tsurayuki._
x.x.xVII
_Elegies_
The perfume is the same, the same the hue As that which erst my senses did delight:-- But he who planted the fair avenue Is here no more, alas! to please my sight!
_Tsurayuki._
x.x.xVIII
_Elegies_
One thing, alas! more fleeting have I seen Than wither"d leaves driv"n by the autumn gust:-- Yea, evanescent as the whirling dust Is man"s brief pa.s.sage o"er this mortal scene!