Then bending their heads to the ground
Three times did they do her homage
The difficult priests
The difficult priests
Who thought to correct her.
First Priest: Who are you then? Give us your name; we will pray for your soul.
Komachi: For all my shame I will tell you. Pray for the wreck of Komachi, the daughter of Yoshizane of Ono, Lord of Dewa.
Both Priests: How sad to think that you were she.
Exquisite Komachi
The brightest flower long ago
Her dark brows arched
Her face bright-powdered always
When cedar-scented halls could scarce contain
Her damask robes.
Komachi: I made verses in our speech
And in the speech of the foreign court.
Chorus: When she passed the banquet cup
Reflected moonlight lay on her sleeve.
How was ever such loveliness lost?
When did she change?
Her hair a tangle of frosted grass
Where the black curls lay on her neck
And the color lost from the twin arched peaks
Of her brow.
Komachi: “Oh shameful in the dawning light
These silted seaweed locks that of a hundred years
Now lack but one.”
Chorus: What do you have in the bag at your waist?
Komachi: Death today or hunger tomorrow.
Only some beans I’ve put in my bag.
Chorus: And in the bundle on your back?
Komachi: A soiled and dusty robe.
Chorus: And in the basket on your arm?
Komachi: Sagittaries black and white.
Chorus: Tattered coat
