Dawns in spring, most splendid.
Day breaks in white minute by minute.
The ridge of the mountains lights
A little brighter in purple.
Thin clouds stream above.

NIghts in summer, most fantastic,
Whether moonlit or moonless.
Hundreds of fireflies hover in the dusk.
Some fly with feeble fire.
Rainy nights also beautiful.

Evenings in autumn, most magnificent.
The ridge of the mountains approaches
In the remaining orange glow.
Crows hurry to their nests in threes, in twos.
Wild geese fly to their winter homes in specks,
Deeply into the sky.
After the sunset,
Only the sound of wind, and the chirping of crickets.

Early mornings in winter,most divine.
Nothing so divine as snowy mornings,
And frosty mornings covered white.
Not snowy nor frosty,
In the piercing cold, the female servants
Make fire with charcoal,
Carrying the red coals in haste
From room to room.
Lively wintry scenes.
Toward the height of day, the cold loosens.
White ashes on the charcoal, dull.