Forget this night when the night is no more.
Whom do I try to clasp in my arms? Dreams can never be made captive.
My eager hands press emptiness to my heart and it bruises my breast.
Why did the lamp go out?
I shaded it with my cloak to save it from the wind, that is why the lamp went out.
Why did the flower fade?
I pressed it to my heart with anxious love, that is why the flower faded.
Why did the stream dry up?
I put a dam across it to have it for my use, that is why the stream dried up.
Why did the harp-string break?
I tried to force a note that was beyond its power, that is why the harp-string is broken.
Why do you put me to shame with a look?
I have not come as a beggar.
Only for a passing hour I stood at the end of your courtyard outside the garden hedge.
Why do you put me to shame with a look?
Not a rose did I gather from your garden, not a fruit did I pluck.
I humbly took my shelter under the wayside shade where every strange traveller may stand.
Not a rose did I pluck.
Yes, my feet were tried, and the shower of rain came down.
The winds cried out among the swaying bamboo branches.
The clouds ran across the sky as though in the flight from defeat.
My feet were tried.
I know not what you thought of me or for whom you were waiting at your door.
Flashes of lighting dazzled your watching eyes.
How could I know that you could see me where I stood in the dark?
I know not what you thought of me.
The day is ended, and the rain has ceased for a moment.
I leave the shadow of the tree at the end of your garden and this seat on the grass.
It has darkened; shut your door; I go my way.
The day is ended.
Where do you hurry with your basket this late evening when the marketing is over?
They all have come home with their burdens; the moon peeps from above the village trees.
The echoes of the voices calling for the ferry run across the dark water to the distant swamp where wild ducks sleep.
Where do you hurry with your basket when the marketing is over?
Sleep has laid her finger upon the eyes of the earth.
The nests of the crows have become silent, and the murmurs of the bamboo leaves are silent.