The perfume from the lotus-blooms aloft.
—RIMPÛ
UNSEEN TILL NOW
How visibly the gentle morning airs
Stir in the caterpillar's silky hairs!
—BUSON
REFRESHING
So cool the summer melons look, a few
Spattered with mud-flecks from the morning dew.
—BASHÔ
COUNTRY REFINEMENT
The stooping women plant their rice along
The terrace—soiled in everything but song.
—RAIZAN
WITH SHARPENED SENSES
When tall green blades have pierced the iris bed,
The cuckoo's pointed cry strikes overhead.
—BASHÔ
INNOCENCE
The newborn foal, who stands with knock-kneed pose,
Over the iris flowers pokes out his nose.
—ISSA
SOUND OF THE CROSS
The cuckoo's singing as it speeds along
Inscribes a cross against the skylark's song.
—KYORAI
SUMMER WATERCOLOUR
The iris standing in the marsh: so blue,
Its roots have drunk the sky's reflected hue.
—HÔ-Ô
RICH APPAREL
The happy beggar, whom the passer loathes,
Wears Earth and Heaven as his summer clothes.
—KIKAKU
THE NOON CONVOLVULUS
Ah! It will never wash its face of blue
In dew of morning or in evening dew.4
—YAYU
BROWSING
This butterfly which on a poppy clings
Opens and shuts a booklet's paper wings.
—HÔ-Ô
PURE QUALITY
Lilies that lean across my brushwood fence:
Have clouds of snow a whiteness so intense?
—SHIKÔ
PRELUDE FOR KOTO
A lightning-flash! The liquid chime of dew
Dripping throughout the forest-high bamboo.
—BUSON
INVENTION
People caught by suddenly pouring skies:
What ingenious hats they improvise!
—OTSUYÛ
HIROSHIGE'S "RAINSTORM AT SUWARA"
Against the slant grey rain, in silhouette,
Men and mules are hurrying through the wet.
—HÔ-Ô
THE MONSOON
"How humid are the rains!" I said; whereat
A large ant walked across my rice-straw mat
—SHIRÔ
SAMIDARE
The downpour prickles on the pond, so sharp
It hits the heads of shallow-floating carp.
—SHIKI
THE WATERFALL
Its threads of water widen with the rain
Day after day, until they twist a skein.
—FUHAKU
DISCORDANT QUARTET
Four magpies on a crooked pine-tree fork;
Their harsh beaks gape, and quarrelsome their talk.
—HÔ-Ô
THE GARDEN OF RYÔAN-JI
Mossbound and weatherworn, the boulders stand;
Around them flows a stream of silver sand.5
—HÔ-Ô
THE ARTIST
His brush abruptly leaps and flicks and swishes:
Swiftly across the paper swim three fishes.
—HÔ-Ô
THE TASTE OF TEA
Whisked to a steaming emerald froth, the cha
Is passed around. We sip its flavour: Ah!
—HÔ-Ô
DANCERS OF OLD KYOTO
The geisha flirt their fans; their sashes trail;
Like goldfish undulating fins and tail.
—GETTO
DEEP REFLECTION
Patiently fishing in the lake, the crane's
Long red legs have shortened since the rains.
—BASHÔ
THE ART OF ARCHERY
After the sudden shower, along the strand
Green pine-needles are sticking in the sand.
—SHIKI
