Going to the New Rice Festival in the evening, a lady’s face was open to view, so I concealed it with my sleeves; on descending from the cart, she said:
ひかげかくしゝ袖ぞわすれぬ
| Fikage kakusisi sode zo wasurenu |
Garlanded with sunlight vine, and hidden by Those sleeves, I never shall forget… |
I replied:
おほぞらのくもの浮きたる身なれども
| oFozora no kumo no ukitaru mi naredomo |
Within the boundless skies, A drifting cloud Is my state, yet… |