Groves rustle –
I listen.
Clouds rush on –
I feel delight.
I feel delight – I marvel at
Why my soul
Is so joyful.
A bell resounds
From far away.
It spins thoughts
As the fields sway.
Above the tides of fields,
Bathing me
like a swallow.
I walk and walk –
Profoundly stirred.
Always waiting for someone –
Singing.
Singing-loving
To the rustle of the quiet whisper of grass
caressing.
The grove can be seen
Above the river’s sheen.
There the edge of sky far off
Is like gold.
Like rolled, beaten gold
The river glows and quivers
like music.
1913