Classic Poem

Ever and ever,
like the hemlock firs
growing so thickly
with countless branches
on the holy hill,
the abode of the gods,
without pause,
like jeweled vines,
always and ever
may we ceaselessly visit
the old capital
at Asuka.
Its mountains are tall,
its river is splendid:
on spring days
we long to look on the mountains;
on autumn nights,
the river runs clear.
In the morning clouds,
the cranes scatter;
in the evening mists,
the frogs sing out.
At each of these things
we must cry out and weep,
thinking of the past.

Like the mists that rise
and linger above the pools
of the Asuka River,
mine is a longing
that will not fade away.