My mind which, as she felt more natural, even sublime in the greyness of silence and general passivity of Winter, experienced a sudden disturbance in the tempest-like falling of the cherry-blossoms of April, and wondered like Kino Tomonori in his famous uta poem:
“’Tis the Spring day
With lovely far-away light!—
Why must the flowers fall
With heart unquiet?”
now seems to be returning most gladly to her original! state of serenity, to resume the world-old dream at the place she left off some little while ago, now in this month of May, my best-beloved season as some old hokku poet well-said:
“What to see? Why, green leaves,
There’s mountain cuckoos,—
And then—new bonitos.”
I thank God (whoever he be), as thanked I him in many previous Mays, for the fact that,
