Spring Time
Tempted by the croaking frogs
And the beautiful moonlight,
I sought at the dead of night
The shadows of a pagoda tree.
My Garden
My garden is only sixty feet square,
Yet though I dwell in the city,
The spring brings a bullfinch’s song
And the summer, a warbler’s note.
Early Winter
Not a single fly in the house!
The winter, when we yearn
For a little warmth of the sun, has come.
The pistils of the white chrysanthemum have reddened;
Crickets no longer sing;
The morning with frost is still.
43 
