Our household dwells amid ten thousand hills,
Where the tea north and south of the village abundantly grows.
From chinsé to kuhyü unceasingly hurried,
Each morning I must early rise to do my task of tea.
By earliest dawn, I at my toilet, only half dress my hair,
And seizing my basket pass the door while yet the mist is thick.
The little maids and graver dames, hand in hand winding along,
Ask me, “Which steep of Sunglo do you climb to-day?”
The sky is thick and the dusky twilight hides the hilltops;
The dewy leaves and cloudy buds can not be easily plucked.