On a pale cobalt-hued
chilly December night,
In the study's corner
atop a Sèvres porcelain bowl
several fruits of Karin swung faintly.
Ah, sweeter than Yuri(lilies),
Purer than Suzuran(lilies of the valley),
Ah, light as white Habutae(fine silk),
Painful as golden needles,
The fragrance of the ripe fruits of Karin
Closing in on the fruits of Karin are
Harsh winds, bitter chill of night,
Ridiculing light of the electric lamp.
Where have they gone, that April sun,
That July dew?
1/
2/
Yet now, within the fruits of Karin,
Pain and pride mingle,
Refusing to rot without a fight
the strength of their mind to endure
does not make their yellow opal skin sweat.
Ah, the fruits of Karin,
Undestroyed by winter nor wind,
Their hearts, their flesh, their shining sap,
transform all their precious inner essence into fragrance
drifting through eternity.
By 与謝野 晶子[Yosano Akiko](Poet, 1878-1942)
Source: https://dl.ndl.go.jp/pid/954126/1/153
via konjaku
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