curtains drawn,
the emperor's love
still lies abed—
on crimson peonies,
...
In the spring chill,
as I slept with sword by pillow,
deep at night
my little sister came to me
...
saw the country
and returned—now deep at night
I lie in bed and
fields of mustard flowers
...
the plaintain at the veranda's edge
unfolds its coiled leaves,
its jewels,
and veils the water basin
...
in memory of
the spring now passing
I drew
the long clusters of wisteria
...
to every needle
of the needled pine it clings—
the pearl white dew,
forming but to scatter,
...