The Poetry of Basho Waking in the night; the lamp is low, the oil freezing. It has rained enough to turn the stubble on the field black. Winter rain falls on the cow-shed; a cock crows. The leeks newly washed white,- how cold it is! The sea darkens; the voices of the wild ducks are faintly white. Ill on a journey; my dreams wander over a withered moor. Return to Haiku Masters

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