The pledge
we exchanged
in a dream-world
long ago
has never changed;
what turned out
to be fickle
is the world

Now, at last,
I know:
that when
I waited to see him
night after night,
beneath it all
already
in his heart
he had changed.

We pledged our love,
but all
to no avail —
since I do not know
where
in those far, cloudy hills
the pheasant has flown.

The years
passed by
and I had though that
at last
I could rest secure,
Why now,
then,
after all this time,
does he seem to drift away?

If even in dreams
we cannot meet,
then how am I
to send a message?
Here on this Gloomy
Mountain road
I meet no one at all.

When we parted,
he promised
nothing — not even
" Wait 'til this evening. "
Yet as soon
as I fall asleep
I see him

Though it drifts
my way,
can I really be so sure?
A cloud blown
by winds
as it travels
through the sky
is in the end a fickle thing.

Forlorn, I wait
'til this night too
ends with dawn.
How could I have thought
that the sound
of a cockcrow
pains
only those who must part?

The sun
in autumn
swiftly gives way
to darkness,
but to no avail —
at least not for one
who waits
a man
who will not hurry.

To expect him
to be undeterred
by rain —
that would be too much;
but, ah, to be certain,
at least,
of the breaks
between showers!