style="font-size:15px;"> THE OPPOSITES
With flowering tongues, the honeysuckle twines
Among the aloe's armament of spines.
—HÔ-Ô
FRIGHTENED DELIGHT
A sudden downpour! Thunderclouds are cracking!
And round the farmhouse all the ducks run, quacking!
—KIKAKU
HOME-GROWN
Washed by monsoonal summer's rainy weeks,
How chill and white, how fresh and green, are leeks!
—BASHÔ
ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER WAY
Between the barley's bending ears of grain,
The path has narrowed since the heavy rain.
—JÔSÔ
KOAN
What if a housefly on the swatter stands
In perfect faith, and wipes its feet and hands?
—ZEN PARADOX
KANNON'S ANSWER
Oh, do not kill that fly! It would entreat:
See how it wrings its little hands and feet!
—ISSA
MIDSUMMER VIGIL
Dawn already, after the shortest night,
Has dimmed the harbour lanterns, still alight.
—SHIKI
LIVING IN POVERTY
Though faint and from afar, the cool breeze comes
Crookedly down my alley in the slums.
—ISSA
RICH REMINISCENCE
Those noonday naps: the paper hut so small,
My feet pressed gingerly against the wall.
—BASHÔ
BEDMATES
Dreaming of battles, was I slain in fight?
I'm peppered with rosettes: those fleas can bite!
—KIKAKU
AN APOLOGY
Sorry my hut's so small; but you are free
To do your jumping practice, Mr. Flea.
—ISSA
SUMMER AT NIKKÔ
A glittering sea of green and gold, they shine,
The sunlit leaves submerging Nikkô Shrine.
—BASHÔ
STARTLED
Out of the golden hall the swallow's fright
Escapes with swift calligraphy of flight.
—BUSON
IN THE FOREST
The fawn with sunbeam-spotted coat in vain
Shakes off the butterfly, to doze again.
—ISSA
INTOXICATION
A furry bee nuzzles amid the head
Of yellow ginger-blossoms pronged with red.
—HÔ-Ô
"BUT THOSE UNHEARD . . ."
Deep in the summer shade, when leaves were mute,
I heard the Suma Temple's unblown flute.
—BASHÔ
WANDERER FROM THE WORLD
Deepen, O cuckoo in the wood, my mood
Of mutability, my solitude. . . .
—BASHÔ
WEATHERWISE
Midsummer must have come: the carp all doze,
Each supping air with half-protruded nose.
—RAIZAN
HEAD-HIGH, THE PAMPAS GRASS
Crossing the summer moor, what guides our course?
The hay a peasant shoulders for his horse.
—BASHÔ
FEAR
The snake has slid away; but still its eyes
Glare at me from the grass and paralyse.
—KYOSHI
THE RUINS OF TAKADACHI FORT
Over the warriors summer grasses wave:
The aftermath of dreams, however brave.
—BASHÔ
SPLIT BY THE WIND
The butterfly, with airy stitches, sews
Together again the barley's parted rows.
—SORA
SILENCE
A frail white butterfly, beneath the spell
Of noon, is sleeping on the huge bronze bell
—BUSON
MIDSUMMER LULL
How hot, on afternoons without a breeze,
The cobwebs hanging from the dusty trees!
—ONITSURA
