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- Shika Wakashu
Kōri ishi Shiga no Karasaki uchitokete sazanami yosuru harukaze zo fuku
At Karasaki in Shiga, where ice lay all winter, the ice has melted away, and the spring breeze blows, sending ripples rolling to the shore.
Shika Wakashu - Oe no Masafusa
Kinō kamo arare furishi wa Shigaraki no toyama no kasumi harumekinikeri
Was it only yesterday that hail was falling? Yet already the mist on the low hills of Shigaraki has turned to the soft look of spring.
Furusato wa harumekinikeri Miyoshino no Mikakigahara o kasumi kometari
The old home of the court has taken on the air of spring: over the plain of Mikaki in fair Yoshino, the mist lies thick and close.
Shika Wakashu - Taira no Kanemori
Tamasaka ni waga machietaru uguisu no hatsune o ayana hito ya kikuramu
At long last I have heard the warbler's first song after waiting so long; is it fair that others, who never waited, should hear it too?
Shika Wakashu - Dōmyō
Yuki kieba egu no wakana mo tsumubeki ni haru sae harenu miyamabe no sato
If only the snow would melt, I could gather young egu greens; but even in spring the sky never clears over this village near the deep mountains.
Shika Wakashu - Sone no Yoshitada
Kasugano ni asa naku kiji no haneoto wa yuki no kiema ni wakana tsume to ya
On Kasuga Moor the pheasant cries at dawn and beats its wings; is that sound telling us to pick young greens where the snow has melted away?
Shika Wakashu - Minamoto no Shigeyuki
Yorozuyo no tameshi ni kimi ga hikarureba nenohi no matsu mo urayami ya semu
Since you are drawn forth as the very model of ten thousand years, surely even the pine pulled up on the Day of the Rat must envy you.
Shika Wakashu - Akazome Emon
Nenohi su to haru no nogoto ni tazunureba matsu ni hikaruru kokochi koso sure
Going from one spring moor to the next to celebrate the Day of the Rat, I feel as though it is not I who pull the pines, but the pines that draw me on.
Shika Wakashu - Retired Emperor Sutoku
Fukikureba ka o natsukashimi ume no hana chirasanu hodo no harukaze mo gana
When the wind blows in, the plum's scent draws my heart; how I wish for a spring breeze gentle enough not to scatter the blossoms.
Ume no hana nioi o michi no shirube nite aruji mo shiranu yado ni kinikeri
Taking the scent of plum blossoms as my guide along the road, I find I have come to a house whose master I do not even know.
Toritsunagu hito mo naki no no harukoma wa kasumi ni nomi ya tanabikaruramu
On a moor where no one comes to tether them, are the spring ponies drawn along only by the mist, trailing away within it?
Makomogusa tsunogumi wataru sawabe ni wa tsunaganu koma mo hanarezarikeri
In the marshes where the wild rice grass has sent up its horn-shaped shoots all around, even ponies left untied do not stray away.
Shika Wakashu - Shun'e
Moeizuru kusaba nomi ka wa Ogasawara koma no keshiki mo harumekinikeri
Is it only the sprouting grass? No: at the pastures of Ogasawara, even the look of the ponies has turned to spring.
Sahohime no ito somekakuru aoyagi o fuki na midari so haru no yamakaze
Do not blow and tangle the green willow, where Lady Saho has hung her freshly dyed threads, O mountain wind of spring.
Shika Wakashu - Taira no Kanemori
Ikanareba kōri wa tokuru harukaze ni musubohoruramu aoyagi no ito
Why is it that in the spring breeze that melts the ice, the threads of the green willow only tangle themselves into knots?
Furusato no mikaki no yanagi harubaru to ta ga somekakeshi asamidori zo mo
In the old capital, the willows along the palace fence stretch far away in spring; who could it be that dyed and hung out this pale green?
Shika Wakashu - Minamoto no Michinari