The wind leaps from branch to branch,
In bright summer and again on dark days,
Shaking the boughs of an ancient tree,
Where a black owl and a white dove call.

The sound of rain dripping on leaves,
Though gentle, is melancholy too,
For a wandering soul hears with each step
The quiet sob of "sorrow."

From green to yellow, from yellow to red,
And again from gold to golden hues,
As the boughs of the trees grow old,
I think of my "past," scattered from autumn to autumn.

From peak to peak the forest soars,
Moving the red oaks and green pines,
But the blowing wind swallows its voice,
Like the "anguish" and "sea."

風は枝から枝へと飛び移る
明るい夏の日にも、また暗い日にも
古木の梢を揺らしながら、
黒い梟と白い鳩が鳴く

木の葉に滴る雨の音
やさしくもあり、またもの悲しい
さすらう身には一足
悲しみの静かなすすり泣きを聞く

緑から黄、黄から赤、
そして黄金から黄金色、
木々の梢が老いゆけば
私は過去を思う、秋から秋へと散る

峰から峰へ聳え立つ林
紅い樫と緑の松を動かすが
吹く風は声を喉越しに
苦しみと海を呑む