In my young days, I had tasted

Only gladness and loved

To mount the topmost floor—

Only the top floor I had mounted.

I had tried to compose

A plaintive love song—a song

Pretending a lover’s sorrow,

But when I tasted in full the broth

Of human grief and woe’s flavours,

Both bitter and sour, that time

I could not find the right word

To completely express the depth

Of my sorrowful song. Today,

Just looking at the fathomless azure

Above my head, I cannot think

Of the right words,

But merely walk around,

Muttering under my breath,

“What a. . .

“What a gold autumn day

I am spared to pay!

What a blissful harvest,

On earth,

Of the total accomplishment!"