冬ごもり 春さり来れば 鳴かざりし
黄葉をば 取りてそしのふ 青きをば
Though winter passes into springtime, birds songless have come and begun
to sing or flowerbuds too stiff have begun to blossom.
But I wouldn't go among the foliage to pick those flowers, because of the
hillside being overgrown. The grass in the mountain would be too rank for
me topluck and praise flowers.
When I look at the leaves on the autumn hillsides, I pick the yellowing
ones and admire them, but leave the green ones there with sorrow.
That is my regret. However, the autumn hills are better for me.