The first of April, some do say,
Is set apart for All Fools' Day,
But why the people call it so
Nor I nor they themselves do know.

The scent of hyacinths, like a pale mist, lies between me and my book;
And the South Wind, washing through the room,
Makes the candles quiver.
My nerves sting at a spatter of rain on the shutter,
And I am uneasy with the thrusting of green shoots
Outside, in the night.
Why are you not here to overpower me with your tense and urgent love?

First a monkey, then a man.
Just the way the world began.

Firefly, airplane, satellite, star
How I wonder which you are.

Finished begging at the village crossroads,
now I stroll through the Hachiman Shrine
when children spot me, call to each other,
" That crazy monk from last year's back again! "

The fields are chill; the sparse rain has stopped;
The colors of Spring teem on every side.
With leaping fish the blue pond is full;
With singing thrushes the green boughs droop.
The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks;
The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist.
By the bamboo stream the last fragment of cloud
Blown by the wind slowly scatters away.

The farmer is busy, so busy, to-day,
Trying to gather in all his hay,
So off to the hayfield hurry away
And see what you can do.
Will you rake, and toss, and turn the hay?
Will you ride in the cart which takes it away?
Or pile up the rick as high as you may?
Or—will-you-only- play ?

Farewell , dear scenes, for ever closed to me,
Oh, for what sorrows must I now exchange ye!
Me miserable! how could I escape
Infinite wrath and infinite despair!
Whom Death, Earth, Heaven, and Hell consigned to ruin,
Whose friend was God, but God swore not to aid me!

Fair Isle at Sea--thy lovely name
Soft in my ear like music came.
That sea I loved, and once or twice
I touched at isles of Paradise.

Fair is the rose, yet fades with heat or cold.
Sweet are the violets, yet soon grow old.
The lily 's white, yet in one day 'tis done.
White is the snow, yet melts against the sun.
So white, so sweet was my fair mistress' face,
Yet altered quite in one short hoür's space.
So short-lived beauty a vain gloss doth borrow,
Breathing delight to-day, but none to-morrow.