South wind.
Dark and burning,
soaked with orange blossoms,
you come over my flesh,
bringing me seed
of brilliant gazes.

You turn the moon red,
make captive poplars moan,
but you’ve come
too late!
I’ve already scrolled up the night
of my tale on the shelf!

Without any wind
—Look sharp! —
Turn, heart.
Turn, my heart.

Northern air,
white bear of the wind!
You come over my flesh
shivering with boreal
auroras, with your cape of phantom
laughing aloud at Dante.
Oh polisher of stars!
But you’ve come too late.
My case is musty
and I’ve lost the key.

Without any wind
—Look sharp! —
Turn, heart.
Turn, my heart.

Gnome breezes and winds
from nowhere.
Mosquitoes of the rose
with pyramid petals.

Federico Garcia Lorca


Last night, the wind and rain —
Those autumnal sounds
struck against the curtains and screens.
The candle wept,
the clepsydra dripped
and I leaned against the head-rest.
I rose, but found no peace.

All mundane affairs
should be thrown into the river.
Life is just a nightmare.
The only safe path is down into the cellar.
Any other route is not worth the fare.

Li Yü

new year

Wind returns to this small court
as lichens turn green.
Her eyes and the willow leaves
make a sequence in spring.
Leaning against the balustrade
she remains long in silence.
The new moon and the crackers
are tediously the same as in the past.

The feast and the music have not yet ceased.
In the pond, ice is beginning to melt.
In the bright candlelight and the faint scent,
and deeply hidden in this painted room,
My temples, overladen with thoughts,
are white like frost.

Li Yü

the bronze bird platform

A lovely young girl brings up a jar of wine.
The autumnal scene extends over a thousand miles.
The stone horse lies in the early mist —
How can I describe the sadness?
The singing is now faint,
Because a wind comes up out of the trees.
Her skirt, long and heavy, is pressed against the floor,
And her tearful eyes are fixed on the flowers on the

Li Ho

one day

Leaning upon my staff.
I stand in front of the gate.
The song of cicadas
is brought to me by the evening wind.
On the far side of the ferry
the sun is setting
And above the cottage
a solitary curl of smoke is rising.

Wang Wei


The wind may rise,
So do the waves, and so they fall
With the falling wind;
They must be loving comrades,
The blowing wind and ceaseless waves.

Ki no Tsurayuki


Which way to turn?
Winds in the autumn leaves,
snow in the pines.

Nijō Yoshimoto

the rosy cloud

From dying sunlight, stroke by stroke, it grows
in layers, as if splitting shades of rose.
A heavenly wind cut it to pieces,
it seems, to make the fairies clothes.

Wang Zhou


It can make the leaves of late autumn fall
or spring flowers bloom, wherever it walks.
It can raise waves a thousand feet high
or slant ten thousand bamboo stalks.

Li Qiao


Whenever I speak out
My lips are chilled—
Autumnal wind.

Matsuo Bashō