Page:Anthology of Japanese Literature.pdf/163

Rh He spoke gently and quietly. There was nothing about him to be regretted. “Who is the other lady?” he asked of my friend. He said nothing rude or amorous like other men, but talked delicately of the sad, sweet things of the world, and many a phrase of his with a strange power enticed me into conversation. He wondered that there should have been in the court one who was a stranger to him, and did not seem inclined to go away soon.

There was no starlight, and a gentle shower fell in the darkness; how lovely was its sound on the leaves! “The more deeply beautiful is the night,” he said; “the full moonlight would be too dazzling.” Discoursing about the beauties of spring and autumn he continued: “Although every hour has its charm, pretty is the spring haze; then the sky being tranquil and overcast, the face of the moon is not too bright; it seems to be floating on a distant river. At such a time the calm spring melody of the lute is exquisite.

“In autumn, on the other hand, the moon is very bright; though there are mists trailing over the horizon we can see things as clearly as if they were at hand. The sound of wind, the voices of insects, all sweet things seem to melt together. When at such a time we listen to the autumnal music of the koto we forget the spring—we think that is best—

“But the winter sky frozen all over magnificently cold! The snow covering the earth and its light mingling with the moonshine! Then the notes of the hichiriki vibrate on the air and we forget spring and autumn.” And he asked us, “Which captivates your fancy? On which stays your mind?”

My companion answered in favor of autumn and I, not being willing to imitate her, said:

So I replied. And he, after repeating my poem to himself over and over, said: “Then you give up autumn? After this, as long as I live, such a spring night shall be for me a memento of your personality.”