Song
Our sovereign familiar with the eight corners,
being a god, rules on high
in Omi Field of Inamino.
There, in coarse-fabric Wisteria Bay,
fishing boats make a commotion, angling for tuna,
many people work, burning seaweed for salt.
Because the bay is good, they fish, yes,
because the shore is good, they burn seaweed for salt, yes.
Clear to the eye why he frequents this place —
this clean, white shore!
ENVOYS
Because waves in the offing and waves near the shore are calm, they fish in Wisteria Bay,
boats making a commotion
Having pushed down the short reeds in Inamino and slept so many nights, I miss my home
Through the Akashi marsh, along the tide-bare path, I won't be able to help
smiling tomorrow, for my home will be near
being a god, rules on high
in Omi Field of Inamino.
There, in coarse-fabric Wisteria Bay,
fishing boats make a commotion, angling for tuna,
many people work, burning seaweed for salt.
Because the bay is good, they fish, yes,
because the shore is good, they burn seaweed for salt, yes.
Clear to the eye why he frequents this place —
this clean, white shore!
ENVOYS
Because waves in the offing and waves near the shore are calm, they fish in Wisteria Bay,
boats making a commotion
Having pushed down the short reeds in Inamino and slept so many nights, I miss my home
Through the Akashi marsh, along the tide-bare path, I won't be able to help
smiling tomorrow, for my home will be near
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