Classic Poem

1

Passing through a wood of larch trees,
I looked at larch trees, for the first time.
Larch trees made me lonesome.
Traveling made me lonesome.

2

Coming out of a wood of larch trees,
I entered a wood of larch trees.
Entering a wood of larch trees,
the path again continued, narrow.

3

Deep in a wood of larch trees,
there was a path for me to take.
It was a path that misty rains shrouded.
It was a path that mountain winds haunted.

4

Passing through a wood of larch trees,
for no reason my walk hushed itself.
Larch trees made me lonesome,
larch trees and I murmured to each other.

5

Coming out of a wood of larch trees,
I saw smoke rise from the Asama peak.
I saw smoke rise from the Asama peak.
Above and beyond the larch trees.

6

The rain in a wood of larch trees
made me lonesome, but quietened.
There was only a cuckoo calling.
Only larch trees becoming wet.

7

The path in a wood of larch trees
was haunted by me, and by someone else.
It was a path one haunted, all narrow.
It was a path one hurried by, alone.