Classic Poem

The province of Sanuki, renowned for lovely seaweed —
perhaps for the character of the province I never tire of looking at it,
perhaps for the character of its deity it is noble in many ways,
and with heaven and earth, with sun and moon,
it will remain replete. There, handed down
as the face of the deity, is the port of Naka.
As we came away from it by boat, rowing,
the regular wind was blowing where the clouds are,
and when we looked at the offing, choppy waves were rising,
when we looked toward the coast, white waves were churning.
Awestruck by the sea where whales are caught,
we pulled up the oars of the moving boat
and though there are many islands near and far,
we have sheltered on the rough beach
of Samine, the island with a fine name.
Here, making a white-cloth pillow
of the shore where noises of waves are frequent,
you lay yourself on the rough bed.
If I knew your home I would go and speak.
If your wife knew, she would come and ask.
But not even knowing of the spear-adorned road,
she must be anxious, waiting, missing you —
the wife you love.

ENVOYS

With your wife, you would have picked and eaten those starworts. On Mount Sami, near its
slopes, is not their season past?

Offshore waves roll in onto the rough beach where, making a white-cloth pillow of it,
you lie asleep