Of Old Japan
and I seize the chance to run away to the writing-box, hiding my face—
Flower-maiden in bloom—
Even more beautiful for the bright dew,
Which is partial, and never favors me.
"So prompt!" said he, smiling, and ordered a writing-box to be brought [for himself].
His answer:
The silver dew is never partial.
From her heart
The flower-maiden's beauty.
One wet and calm evening I was talking with Lady Saisho. The young Lord[1] of the Third Rank sat with the misu[2] partly rolled up. He seemed maturer than his age and was very graceful. Even in light conversation such expressions as "Fair soul is rarer than fair face" come gently to his lips, covering us with confusion. It is a mistake to treat him like a young boy. He keeps his dignity among ladies, and I saw in him a much-sought-after romantic hero when once he walked off reciting to himself:
Linger in the field where flower-maidens are blooming
And your name will be tarnished with tales of gallantry.
Some such trifle as that sometimes lingers in my mind when really interesting things are soon forgotten—why?
