lake I

The voice of the flute
reaches the farthest bank.
It is sunset, and I am coming with you,
my master.
From the high shore of the lake
I turn back again to look;
On the green of the mountains
white clouds are gathering.

Wide in the emptiness
spreads the water of the lake:
Its pellucid splendour
reflects the hue of the sky.
I moor the boat to the bank,
and whistle contentedly
The freshness of the breeze
reaches me from every side.

Wang Wei
P’ei Ti

the hill of hua-tzǔ

The birds fly away
into infinite space:
Over the whole mountain
returns the splendour of autumn.
Ascending and descending
Hua-tzǔ hill,
I feel
unbounded bewilderment and
lamentation.

The sun sets,
the wind rises among the pines.
Returning home,
there is a little dew upon the grass.
The reflection of the clouds
falls into the tracks of my shoes,
The blue of the mountains
touches my clothes.


Wang Wei
P’ei Ti

call

I hear the stag’s pathetic call
Far up the mountain side,
While tramping o’er the maple leaves
Wind-scattered far and wide
This sad, sad autumn tide.

Sarumaru no Dayū

yamadori

Long is the mountain pheasant’s tail
That curves down in its flight;
But longer still, it seems to me,
Left in my lonely plight,
Is this unending night.

Kakinomoto no Hitomaro

stream

I wish the mountaintop would flee the moon
And delay the darkening of its light.

Ariwara no Narihira

the style of the unchanging

The harvest moon
and the fog at the mountain foot—
mists over the field.

Matsuo Bashō

echo

Amid cloudy mists,
in a second its view has changed
one hundred times.

Matsuo Bashō

holy mountain

The misty rain —
the day unable to see Fuji
leaves great charm.

Matsuo Bashō

crossing the mountains

Going a mountain road
Something or other charmed me:
The wild violets.

Matsuo Bashō

on the road to Nara

The spring has come!
Over nameless mountains
The morning mist.

Matsuo Bashō