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the month when cherry-trees

Paint the spring-time pink,

Lady Haru, with her maids,

Sate at Kodzu's brink:

Good it is to live on days like these!

Rosy as a Musmee's lips,

Red as blood on snow,

Bloomed the jewelled branches forth:

Rice-birds chirped below:

Over silver seas went white-sailed ships.

All about the blossoming rape,—

Glad to own its gold—