wind. The paired butterflies are already yellow with August Over the grass in the West garden, They hurt me, I grow older, If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang, Please let me know beforehand, And I will come out to meet you, As far as Cho-fu-Sa. By Rihaku.

The Jewel Stairs' Grievance

The jewelled steps are already quite white with dew, It is so late that the dew soaks my gauze stockings, And I let down the crystal curtain And watch the moon through the clear autumn. By Rihaku. Note.--Jewel stairs, therefore a palace. Grievance, therefore there is something to complain, of. Gauze stockings, therefore a court lady, not a servant who complains. Clear autumn, therefore he has no excuse on account of weather. Also she has come early, for the dew has not merely whitened the stairs, but has soaked her stockings. The poem is especially prized because she utters no direct reproach.

Poem by the Bridge at Ten-Shin

March has come to the bridge head, Peach boughs and apricot boughs hang over a thousand gates, At morning there are flowers to cut the heart, And evening drives them on the eastward-flowing waters. Petals are on the gone waters and on the going, And on the back-swirling eddies, But to-days men are not the men of the old days, Though they hang in the same way over the bridge-rail.The sea's colour moves at the dawn
And the princes still stand in rows, about the throne,
And the moon falls over the portals of Sei-go-yo,
And clings to the walls and the gate-top.
With head-gear glittering against the cloud and sun,
The lords go forth from the court, and into far borders.
They ride upon dragon-like horses,
Upon horses with head-trappings of yellow-metal,
And the streets make way for their passage.
    Haughty their passing,
    Haughty their steps as they go into great banquets,
    To high halls and curious food,
    To the perfumed air and girls dancing,
    To clear flutes and clear singing;
    To the dance of the seventy couples;
    To the mad chase through the gardens.
    Night and day are given over to pleasure
    And they think it will last a thousand autumns,
              Unwearying autumns.
    For them the yellow dogs howl portents in vain,

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