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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Matsuo Basho: English translations of Haiku about autumn, fall, falling, trees, leaves, leaving, goodbye, rice, moon, moonlight, words. Reverential tears: the falling leaves bid their trees goodbye. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Plates and bowls gleaming dimly in the darkness: evening coolness. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Twice the pity: beneath the headless helmet, a chirping cricket. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Secretly by moonlight weevils bore chestnuts. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Cranes on stilts surveying the rice paddies: autumn village. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Thankfulness: someone else harvests rice for me. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How touching to survive the storm, chrysanthemum. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Slender again, somehow the chrysanthemum will yet again bud. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As autumn deepens a butterfly sips chrysanthemum dew. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch His loosened jacket collar invites the cool breeze. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Butterfly wings: how many times have they soared over human roofs? —Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch Mosquitos drone with dusky voices deep within the cattle shed. —Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch Basho leaves shred in the gale; the basin collects raindrips; all night I listen, alone in my hut. —Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch The dew drips, drop-by-drop... I’d rinse this world clean, if I could. —Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch The fire’s banked ashes extinguish your tears’ hisses. —Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch Turn to face me, for I am also lonesome this autumn evening. —Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch Plucking white hairs while beneath my pillow a cricket creaks. —Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch Everything that blossoms dies in the end: wilted pampas grass. —Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch As autumn departs, shivering I scrunch under too-small bedding. —Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch It seems, to dullard me, that hell must be like this: late autumn. —Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch
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