SPRING

　　No matter how oppressive is the hand of fate,

　　is human deceit,

　　no matter how deeply they furrow our brows,

　　wound our hearts,

　　no matter how severe are the trials

　　to which we daily must succumb,

　　what can resist the breath of

　　and that first encounter with spring！

　　……

　　Spring does not know us,

　　us, our grief, our malice ……

　　Her gaze shines with immortality.

　　There's not a wrinkle on her brow.

　　She obeys her own laws.

　　At the appropriate time she flies down,

　　bright, blissfully indifferent,

　　as befits a goddess.

　　……

　　She scatters blossoms on the earth.

　　She is fresh, like the first spring.

　　Was there another before？

　　She doesn't need to know.

　　The sky is cloud-covered.

　　These clouds are her own, leaving not a trace

　　of the extinct life of former springs.

　　……

　　Roses do not sign about the past,

　　nor do nightingales sing it.

　　Dawn does not shed tears

　　of fragrance for the past,

　　and terror of the ineluctable end

　　does not flow from trees and branches.

　　Their life, like the boundless ocean,

　　is entirely poured into the present.

　　……

　　All the game, the sacrifice of individual life！

　　Come, throw off the deceit of feelings

　　and throw yourself lustily, omnipotently

　　into this life-creating ocean！

　　Come on, in its ethereal stream

　　wash your suffering breast

　　and in this divinely all-peaceful life

　　for just one moment be a guest！