Page:Anthology of Japanese Literature.pdf/272

268 :::Then bending their heads to the ground
 * Three times did they do her homage
 * The difficult priests
 * The difficult priests
 * Who thought to correct her.

Who are you then? Give us your name; we will pray for your soul.

For all my shame I will tell you. Pray for the wreck of Komachi, the daughter of Yoshizane of Ono, Lord of Dewa.

How sad to think that you were she.
 * Exquisite Komachi
 * The brightest flower long ago
 * Her dark brows arched
 * Her face bright-powdered always
 * When cedar-scented halls could scarce contain
 * Her damask robes.

I made verses in our speech
 * And in the speech of the foreign court.

When she passed the banquet cup
 * Reflected moonlight lay on her sleeve.
 * How was ever such loveliness lost?
 * When did she change?
 * Her hair a tangle of frosted grass
 * Where the black curls lay on her neck
 * And the color lost from the twin arched peaks
 * Of her brow.

“Oh shameful in the dawning light
 * These silted seaweed locks that of a hundred years
 * Now lack but one.”

What do you have in the bag at your waist? Death today or hunger tomorrow.
 * Only some beans I’ve put in my bag.

And in the bundle on your back? A soiled and dusty robe. And in the basket on your arm? Sagittaries black and white. Tattered coat