the style of the unchanging

The harvest moon
and the fog at the mountain foot—
mists over the field.

Matsuo Bashō

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echo

Amid cloudy mists,
in a second its view has changed
one hundred times.

Matsuo Bashō

holy mountain

The misty rain —
the day unable to see Fuji
leaves great charm.

Matsuo Bashō

crossing the mountains

Going a mountain road
Something or other charmed me:
The wild violets.

Matsuo Bashō

on the road to Nara

The spring has come!
Over nameless mountains
The morning mist.

Matsuo Bashō