Page:Anthology of Japanese Literature.pdf/442

Flowers of illusion one moment bewitch the eye—
How toys the crafty Creator with men!
Next year in the eastern fields when I search the paths of spring,
Who will carry the wine gourd and follow the old man?

By post news from the capital, terrible beyond recall:
“This month, the second day, earthquakes from dusk to dawn.
Seven days and nights the tremors, until the earth must sunder.
We beseech in tears the sky.
Of ten houses nine destroyed;
Families cower in the streets as roof tiles shower down….”
Of my home no word.
Dumbly I scratch my head and gaze
East toward my home on the Kamo banks:
The youngest clinging to my frail wife,
They flee to the river sands,
Fearful for the abandoned house,
While stone embankments topple,
Laying the willow roots bare.
Through deep tides to distant flats
Which way escape?
The eldest boy wades the stream,
The youngest on his nurse’s back.
From the nest upturned though the eggs be spared,
The mother sickens with care, bearing alone a family’s burden.
How can I face you again?
I speed this letter back,
And wait an answer that may never come.
Your death or life unknown,
In this chaos whom shall I entreat?
When dread fate crushes the multitudes,
How can I ask of him or her? …