A copy
of the original Classical Japanese text can be found at: Wikisource
By Sei Shōnagon
In spring, the dawn. The mountain ridge, which turns
gradually to white, begins to brighten, and wisps of purple-tinged cloud drift
along.
In summer, the night. The time around the full moon, of
course, but moonless nights too. The sight of countless fireflies fluttering
here and there, or of only one or two flying along, glowing softly, is lovely.
Falling rain is lovely too.
In autumn, the evening. When the setting sun shines and
sinks close to the mountain’s rim, crows return to their nesting place in
threes and fours, or twos and threes. Even their hurried flight is moving to
see. Still lovelier is the sight of geese flying in rows and the way they look
so very small. Words cannot describe the sound of the wind and the cries of
insects once the sun has fully set.
In winter, the early morning. The charm of falling snow
needs no description. On mornings with bright white frost, and even those
without, the sight of people hurrying to light the fires and carrying in more
charcoal on the coldest days is quite perfect. As noon approaches and the
day grows gradually milder, the way the fire in the brazier turns to white ash
is awful.
English translation by Eleanor Summers
