Round One Hundred and Forty-Eight

Left

くらきよりくらき道にぞ入りぬべきはるかにてらせ山のはの月

kuraki yori kuraki michi ni zo irinubeki haruka ni terase yama no ha no tsuki

From darkening On a shadowed path I must make my way; Let it faintly shine, The moon upon the mountain’s edge.

Izumi Shikibu
295[1]

Right

色かへぬ竹の葉しろく月さえてつもらぬ雪をはらふ秋かぜ

iro kaenu take no ha shiroku tsuki saete tsumoranu yuki o harau akikaze

The unchanging hue of The bamboo leaves turns white Beneath the chilly moon— Snow that never drifts With the brush of autumn breezes.

Kunaikyō
296[2]

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[1] Shūishū XX: 1342: Composed and sent to the Monk Shoku.

[2] Shinsenzaishū IV: 416: On the wind in the bamboo before the moon.