TSUNEYO.
My life is like a tree the earth has covered;
I shoot no blossoms upward to the world.
WIFE.
And should we burn for you
These shrubs, these profitless toys,
TSUNEYO.
Think them the faggots of our Master’s servitude.[81]
WIFE.
For snow falls now upon them, as it fell
TSUNEYO.
When he to hermits of the cold
Himalayan Hills was carrier of wood.