MYS I: 16

When His Majesty, the Emperor [Tenchi], asked the Grand Minister, Lord Fujiwara [no Kamatari], which was superior: the myriad hued flowers of spring or the thousand leaves of autumn, Princess Nukata settled the matter with this poem.

冬木成 春去来者 不喧有之 鳥毛来鳴奴 不開有之 花毛佐家礼抒 山乎茂 入而毛不取 草深 執手母不見 秋山乃 木葉乎見而者 黄葉乎婆 取而曽思努布 青乎者 置而曽歎久 曽許之恨之 秋山吾者

冬こもり 春さり來れば 鳴かずありし 鳥も來鳴きぬ 咲かずありし 花も咲けれど 山を茂み 入りても取らず 草深み 取りても見ず 秋山の 木の葉を見ては 黄葉をば 取りてぞ偲ふ 靑きをば 置きてぞ嘆く そこし恨めし 秋山ぞ吾は

puyu kömori
paru sarikureba
nakazu arisi
töri mo ki nakinu
sakazarisi
pana mo sakeredö
yama wo simi
irite mo torazu
kusa pukami
torite mo mizu
akiyama nö
ko nö pa wo mite pa
momiti wo ba
torite zö sinopu
awoki wo ba
okite zö nagëku
sökö si uramesi
akiyama zö are pa
Buried by winter,
When spring comes to pass,
The silent
Birds burst into song;
The bloomless
Flowers burst out, but
The mountains are so lush,
One cannot make one’s way;
The grasses are so thick,
An outstretched hand is lost;
On an autumn mountain,
One sees trees’ leaves:
The yellow leaves,
To take for a keepsake;
Green ones
To leave behind in sorrow,
Though I hate to do it:
It’s the autumn mountains for me!

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