Wakeful for last year's call that I loved — still, it's as fresh as ever when the cuckoo comes

Under the lamplight that grows feeble toward daybreak, my troubling thoughts alone do not fade

Turning and turning, these summer days, to my regret — think of it, half the year is already gone

Troubled throughout the year, I step out this morning: light snow frozen at the end of loneliness

A traveler's sleeves fluttered by an autumn wind, the evening sun desolate across the suspended mountain bridge

Through a rift in evening rainclouds the sun shines out; across this side of the mountain a white heron flies

Thinking of the past I wake, mind empty — the moonlight gone, I do not know where

They become fragrant, and the spring ends; the kerria flowers, of all flowers, must feel the pain

Straw mattress: the Bridge Princess of Uji waits through the night, autumn wind deepening, moon laid out, alone

A stalling ox, shuffling, swirls up dust — hot, even the wind, the summer cart