IV PILLAR-PRINT BY TOYONOBU

O lady of the long robes, the slow folds flowing—

Lady of the white breast, the dark and lofty head—

Dwells there any wonder, the way that thou art going—

Or goest thou toward the dead?

So calm thy solemn steps, so slow the long lines sweeping

Of garments pale and ghostly, of limbs as grave as sleep—

I know not if thou, spectre, hast love or death in keeping,

Or goest toward which deep.

Thou layest thy robes aside with gesture large and flowing—

Is it for love or sleep—is it for life or death?

I would my feet might follow the path that thou art going,

And thy breath be my breath.

From an infinite distance, the ghostly music!

Few and slender the tones, of delicate silver,

As stars are broidered on the veil of evening....

He passes by, the flute and the dreaming player—

Slow are his steps, his eyes are gravely downcast;

His pale robes sway in long folds with his passing.

Out of the infinite distance, a ghostly music

Returns—in slender tones of delicate silver,

As stars are broidered on the veil of evening.