The wind shakes the mists

Making them quiver

With faint drum-tones of thunder.

Out of the crane-haunted mists of autumn,

Blue and brown

Rolls the moon.

There was a city living here long ago,

Of all that city

There is only one stone left half-buried in the marsh,

With characters upon it which no one now can read.

[74]

[74]

 Despair

Despair hangs in the broken folds of my garments;

It clogs my footsteps,

Like snow in the cherry bloom.

In my heart is the sorrow

Of years like red leaves buried in snow.

[75]

[75]

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