'Twas said of old, and still the ages say,
"The lover's path is full of doubt and woe."
Of me they spake: I know not, nor can know,
If she I sigh for will my love repay.
My heart sinks on my breast; with bitter strife
My heart is torn, and grief she cannot see.
All unavailing is this agony
To help the love that has become my life.
Anon.
HITOMARO TO HIS MISTRESS
Tsunu's shore, Ihámi's brine,
To all other eyes but mine
Seem, perchance, a lifeless mere,
And sands that ne'er the sailor cheer.
Ah, well-a-day! no ports we boast,
And dead the sea that bathes our coast;
But yet I trow the wingèd breeze
Sweeping at morn across our seas,
And the waves at eventide
From the depths of ocean wide,
Onward to Watadzu bear
The deep-green seaweed, rich and fair;
And like that seaweed gently swaying,
Wingèd breeze and waves obeying,
So thy heart hath swayed and bent
And crowned my love with thy content.
But, dear heart! I must away,
As fades the dew when shines the day;
Nor aught my backward looks avail,
Myriad times cast down the vale,