Matsuo Basho

Harvest moon: around the pond I wander and the night is gone.

Now the swinging bridge Is quieted with creepers ... Like our tendrilled life.

Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.

The moon and sun are travelers through eternity. Even the years wander on. Whether drifting through life on a boat or climbing toward old age leading a horse, each day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.

Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate

Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.

O cricket from your cherry cry_x000D_ _x000D_ No one would ever guess_x000D_ _x000D_ How quickly you must die.

Year's end, all _x000D_ _x000D_ corners of this _x000D_ _x000D_ floating world, swept.

I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.

From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.

The oak tree:_x000D_ _x000D_ not interested_x000D_ _x000D_ in cherry blossoms.

Between our two lives there is also the life of the cherry blossom.

For this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice.

When composing a verse let there not be a hair's breath separating your mind from what you write; composition of a poem must be done in an instant, like a woodcutter felling a huge tree or a swordsman leaping at a dangerous enemy.

Not to think of yourself / as someone who did not count -- / Festival of the Souls.

Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.

The moon is brighter since the barn burned.

Come out to view / the truth of flowers blooming / in poverty.

Sadly, I part from you; Like a clam torn from its shell, I go, and autumn too.

Awakened at midnight by the sound of the water jar cracking from the ice

Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?