_When the evening sun descends behind the mountain peak,_
_Will you forget that it is I who gaze with longing_
_Towards the place where you are?_
The holy voices of the priests reciting sutras in their morning service
could be heard from my house and I opened the door. It was dim early
dawn; mist veiled the green forest, which was thicker and darker than
in the time of flowers or red leaves. The sky seemed clouded this
lovely morning. Cuckoos were singing on the near-by trees.
_O for a friend--that we might see and listen together!_
_O the beautiful dawn in the mountain village!--_
_The repeated sound of cuckoos near and far away._
On that moon-hidden day cuckoos sung clamorously on trees towards the
glen. "In the Royal City poets may be awaiting you, cuckoos, yet you
sing here carelessly from morning till night!"
One who sat near me said: "Do you think that there is one person, at
least, in the Capital who is listening to cuckoos, and thinking of us
at this moment?"--and then:
_Many in the Royal City like to gaze on the calm moon._
_But is there one who thinks of the deep mountain_
_Or is reminded of us hidden here?_