(1394-1481)
Deep in the boudoir, how much poetry.
A song before the wind-blown flowers,
the purity of this fragrant banquet.
Making love on the bed,
a feeling of the river and the sea.
To spend the rest of our lives like mandarin ducks,
at ease on the water.
Her perfume mixes with my plum blossom;
we pledge ourselves.
A caress like two or three stalks of Yao grass,
She makes love like a graceful river nymph.
This feeling night after night:
the sapphire sea, the azure sky.
( 1878 - 1942 )
Blind Mori night after night,
sings with me
Under the covers, like Mandarin ducks,
new intimate talk
making promises to be together
till the dawning of Maitreya's salvation.
At the home of this old buddha all is spring.
A thousand strands
of glistening deep black hair
in tangles, tangles,
all intertangled
like my dreams of you.