Songs of a Cowherd/Spring Song
Spring Song
1908
On a small farm of reddish clay soil
Away from men, I am alone.
Nigh behind the house in a bamboo thicket,
A grove of tall pines rises stately.
The hearth smoke lingering by the eaves
And the distant roars of waves to me are quieting.
’Tis the spring, mulberry trees marshalling new shoots.
Nightingales, white-eyes, and buntings
Come and go, attaching themselves to men.
Cows in the yard are suckling their young;
The dog, worn out from play, lies curled;
Raising sand and dust, hens prowl.
Yonder on the moor, dotted with low growths,
My two children gather water-cresses.
My love, nightmare of the fleeting world, I forget;
My vain hope of a name is vanished.
In the shed silkworms are turning in cocoons.
“We shall keep close watch and be diligent,”
Whisper two sisters to their mother.
There is a joy in the toil of living.
Laying aside my pen, I, too, will pick mulberry leaves.