From each turn the winding road
Takes upward; for thy dear abode
Farther and still farther lies,
And hills on hills between us rise.
Ah! bend ye down, ye cruel peaks,
That the gate my fancy seeks,
Where sits my pensive love alone,
To mine eyes again be shown!
Hitomaro.
NO TIDINGS
The year has come, the year has gone again,
And still no tidings of mine absent love!
Through the long days of spring all heaven above
And earth beneath, re-echo with my pain.
In dark cocoon my mother's silk-worms dwell;
Like them, a captive, through the livelong day
Alone I sit and sigh my soul away,
For ne'er to any I my love may tell.
Like to the pine-trees I must stand and pine,[141]
While downward slanting fall the shades of night,
Till my long sleeve of purest snowy white,
With showers of tears, is steeped in bitter brine.
Anon.