Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
TankaJun Fujita
Shyly holds its fragrance
Beneath the fresh morning dew.
So, Elizabeth.
The air is still
And grasses are wet;
Thread-like rain
Screens the dunes.
The storm has passed,
The sky washed clear.
Rain-drops on twigs
Reflect the moon.
A sloping sand plain
Fades into pale night air;
A black tree skeleton
Casts no shadow.
The brook has gone,
Left the lifeless bed behind;
A lonely bird
Seeks the water in vain.
On a country road
An old woman walks;
The autumn sun
Casts her shadow long and thin.
Across the frozen marsh
The last bird has flown;
Save a few reeds
Nothing moves.
Graves are frozen.
A few leaves
Stood, danced
And have gone.