HITOMARO TO HIS MISTRESS

Tsunu's shore, Ihámi's brine, To all other eyes but mine Seem, perchance, a lifeless mere, And sands that ne'er the sailor cheer. Ah, well-a-day! no ports we boast, And dead the sea that bathes our coast; But yet I trow the wingèd breeze Sweeping at morn across our seas, And the waves at eventide From the depths of ocean wide, Onward to Watadzu bear The deep-green seaweed, rich and fair; And like that seaweed gently swaying, Wingèd breeze and waves obeying, So thy heart hath swayed and bent And crowned my love with thy content. But, dear heart! I must away, As fades the dew when shines the day; Nor aught my backward looks avail, Myriad times cast down the vale, From each turn the winding road Takes upward; for thy dear abode Farther and still farther lies, And hills on hills between us rise. Ah! bend ye down, ye cruel peaks, That the gate my fancy seeks, Where sits my pensive love alone, To mine eyes again be shown!