'Tis morn on Kiyomidzu's height,
Where once the Taiko planned his war,
And from a book of Buddhist lore
I hear the holy priest recite.

Below I see the river lave
That city's feet he loves so well;
And o'er my spirit comes a spell
Like that the fabled lotus gave.

Rest — rest — here will I rest. What good
To climb, for aye, the rolling wave,
Like Greek Ulysses, till the grave
Descends upon the weary blood?

O rather, on this mountain side,
With some kind spirit would I dwell
Till over me the temple bell
Sounds requiem at life's eventide!