Page:Anthology of Japanese Literature.pdf/269

And knew we owed no love to those who to this life
Engendered us.
We recognized no parents.
No children cared for us.
We walked a thousand miles and the way seemed short.
In the fields we lay down
And slept the night in the hills
Which now became our proper dwelling place
Our proper home.
Komachi: “Like a root-cut reed
Should the tide entice
I would come
I would come I know but no wave asks
No stream invites this grief.”
How sad that once I was proud
Long ago
Proud and graceful
Golden birds in my raven hair
When I walked like willows nodding, charming
As the breeze in spring.
The voice of the nightingale
The petals of the wood rose, wide stretched,
Holding dew
At the hour before their breathless fall:
I was lovelier than these.
Now
I am foul in the eyes of the humblest creatures
To whom my shame is shown.
Unwelcome months and days pile over me
The wreck of a hundred years
In the city to avoid the eyes of men
Lest they should say “Can it be she?”
In the evening
West with the moon I steal past the palace,
Past the towers
Where no guard will question in the mountains