My dream was silly but splendid.
Dream is no dream without silliness which is akin to poetry.
If my dream ever comes true!
24th—The song of gay children scattered over the street had subsided. The harvest moon shone like a yellow halo of “Nono Sama.” All things in blessed Mitsuho No Kuni—the smallest ant also—bathed in sweet inspiring beams of beauty. The soft song that is not to be heard but to be felt, was in the air.
’Twas a crime, I judged, to squander lazily such a gracious graceful hour within doors.
I and my maid strolled to the Konpira shrine.
Her red stout fingers—like sweet potatoes—didn’t appear so bad tonight, for the moon beautified every ugliness.
Our Emperor should proclaim forbidding woman to be out at any time except under the moonlight.
Without beauty woman is nothing. Face is the whole soul. I prefer death if I am not given a pair of dark velvety eyes.
What a shame even woman must grow old!