We came hither together, friend, and now at the cross-roads I stop to bid
you farewell.

Your path is wide and straight before you, but my call comes up by ways
from the unknown.

I shall follow wind and cloud; I shall follow the stars to where day breaks
behind the hills; I shall follow lovers who, as they walk, twine their days
into a wreath on a single thread of song, "I love."



3


It was growing dark when I asked her, "What strange land have I come to?"

She only lowered her eyes, and the water gurgled in the throat of her jar,
as she walked away.

The trees hang vaguely over the bank, and the land appears as though it
already belonged to the past.

The water is dumb, the bamboos are darkly still, a wristlet tinkles against
the water-jar from down the lane.


Row no more, but fasten the boat to this tree,--for I love the look of this
land.