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- Kokin Wakashu
Kasuga Field— today, burn it not, I pray; the young spring grass— my wife, too, is hidden, and I, too, am hidden.
Today, burn not Kasuga Field. In the young spring grass, my wife is hidden, and I, too, am hidden.
Kokin Wakashu - Unknown Poet
In the deep mountains, even the snow on pine trees has not yet melted; in the Capital, on the fields, young greens are gathered.
Here in the deep mountains, even the snow piled on the pine trees has not yet melted, yet in the Capital they are gathering the young greens that have sprouted in the fields.
Kokin Wakashu - Unknown Poet
Pushing the azusa bow, today spring rain has fallen; if it falls even tomorrow, I shall gather the young greens then as well.
Spring rain has fallen today across the land. If it continues even tomorrow, I shall gather the young greens then as well.
Kokin Wakashu - Unknown Poet
For your sake I go out into the spring fields to gather young greens; on my sleeves the snow continues to fall.
For your sake, I went out into the spring fields to gather young greens, while snow kept falling upon my sleeves.
Kokin Wakashu - Unknown Poet
Perhaps going to Kasuga Field to gather young greens, people go with the sleeves of their white garments fluttering.
Could it be that they are going to Kasuga Field to gather young greens, with the sleeves of their white garments fluttering as they go?
Kokin Wakashu - Ki no Tsurayuki
The spring-worn robe of haze, its weft threads thin, by the mountain wind is like to be torn and rent.
The robe called spring haze, worn in spring, has thin weft threads; blown by the mountain wind, it seems as though it might be torn and fray.
Kokin Wakashu - Ariwara no Yukihira
Even the green of ever-constant pines, when spring comes, now deepens by yet another degree.
Even the green of the ever-constant pines, when spring comes, deepens yet another degree.
Kokin Wakashu - Minamoto no Muneyuki
Each time the spring rain falls on my beloved’s robe, the green of the fields alone deepens its color.
Each time the spring rain falls, the green of the grasses and trees in the fields alone deepens in color.
Kokin Wakashu - Ki no Tsurayuki
In the spring when green willows spin threads and weave them, so abundant with thread— yet the blossoms burst open in wild disarray.
Though it is the spring when green willows are said to spin threads and weave them, the blossoms all around burst open in wild disarray.
Kokin Wakashu - Ki no Tsurayuki
Pale green threads are spun and hung upon the boughs; threading white dew into shining beads— are these the willows of spring?
Spinning pale green threads and hanging them upon the branches, the willows of spring thread the white dew into shining beads.
Kokin Wakashu - Sojo Henjo
When many birds sing in the spring that chatters on, all things are made new— yet I alone grow old as each new spring comes round.
In the spring when many birds sing with lively voices, everything one sees and hears is renewed, yet I alone grow old with each spring that comes.
Kokin Wakashu - Unknown Poet
In the deep mountains, not knowing which way to go, with an anxious voice a calling bird calls out— how uncertain it sounds.
In the deep mountains, not knowing which way to go, a calling bird cries out in an anxious voice, deepening the feeling of unease.
Kokin Wakashu - Unknown Poet
When spring comes round, the geese return north again; on the white clouds’ road they go their distant way— would that I could send word.
When spring comes, the geese return to the north. They go their way along the road of white clouds; if only I could send a message to the one who went down to the land of Koshi.
Kokin Wakashu - Oshikochi no Mitsune
Seeing spring’s haze rise, the geese go, leaving it all; to a flowerless town— are they so used to living where no blossoms bloom?
Seeing the spring haze rise, the geese fly north, leaving behind the season when blossoms will soon bloom; are they accustomed to living in a land where no flowers bloom?
Kokin Wakashu - Ise
When I plucked them, my sleeves are what now smell— plum blossoms’ scent; thinking blossoms are here, the warbler sings nearby.
Because I have just plucked the plum blossoms, my sleeves are fragrant with their scent; perhaps thinking the blossoms are here, the warbler sings nearby.
Kokin Wakashu - Unknown Poet
More than its color, its fragrance moves the heart— so deeply it feels; whose sleeves once brushed this lodge’s plum to leave such scent behind?
More than its color, its fragrance feels deeply moving to the heart; whose sleeves once brushed the plum at this lodge to leave behind such a lingering scent?
Kokin Wakashu - Unknown Poet