It ain't no use to grumble and complain;
— — It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice;
When God sorts out the weather and sends rain,
— — Why, rain's my choice.

The inn towers impressively on the bank of the ancient river.
Day after day you see off the ships of high officials from this place.
If I hadn't shared a cup of wine with you in the lamplight,
how would I have realized that the innkeeper was a poet?

In what place in years to come
will I lodge my life?
In the mountains? By a river?
Both would suit me fine!
For no reason, the tall pine trees
growing round the house
catch the sound of wind and turn it
into sounds of rain.

In utter chaos no sooner were you born
than the family had to flee along the roads.
Afraid of your crying, I thought of abandoning you;
each time we escaped, my love for you would grow!
Children are crushed in times of disaster;
shields and halberds threaten young lives.
Rise and fall — these affect the world:
remembering, my feelings of sorrow grow.

In this small Character is sent
My Love's eternall Monument:
Whilst wee shall live, know, this Chain'd Heart
Is our affection's Counterpart:
And if wee never meet, Think, I
Bequeath'd it as my Legacy.

In the southern land many birds sing;
Of towns and cities half are unwalled.
The country markets are thronged by wild tribes;
The mountain-villages bear river-names.
Poisonous mists rise from the damp sands;
Strange fires gleam through the night-rain.
And none passes but the lonely fisher of pearls
Year by year on his way to the South Sea.

In the sky there is a moon and stars,
And in my garden there are yellow moths
Fluttering about a white azalea bush.

In the mountain's shadow
my grass hut's
so cold
I'll be up burning firewood
all night long

In the House of Red Leaves are the most beautiful dances:
swirling snowflakes, twirling winds, in time
to the beat of the drum!
Filling the air, frosty maple leaves flutter down
before our wine cups,
as if a goddess were scattering blossoms,
a rainfall of red from the sky.

Traces of the famous Konparu Zenchiku,
blowing the flute, singing on the stage, moonlight flowing bright,
before one's eyes, the charm of Komachi's mask,
Captain Fukakusa's dark spirit — his father's embodiment.