Nor of the parted grass by that bay,
Nor of the far-seen pine-waste
Of Miwo of wheat stalks.

Let us go according to custom. Take hands against the wind here, for it
presses the clouds and the sea. Those men who were going to fish are
about to return without launching. Wait a little, is it not spring? will
not the wind be quiet? this wind is only the voice of the lasting pine-
trees, ready for stillness. See how the air is soundless, or would be,
were it not for the waves. There now, the fishermen are putting out with
even the smallest boats.

PRIEST
Now I am come to shore at Miwo-no; I disembark in Subara; I see all that
they speak of on the shore. An empty sky with music, a rain of flowers,
strange fragrance on every side; all these are no common things, nor is
this cloak that hangs upon the pine-tree. As I approach to inhale its
colour I am aware of mystery. Its colour-smell is mysterious. I see that
it is surely no common dress. I will take it now and return and make it a
treasure in my house, to show to the aged.

TENNIN
That cloak belongs to someone on this side. What are you proposing to do
with it?

PRIEST
This? this is a cloak picked up. I am taking it home, I tell you.

TENNIN
That is a feather-mantle not fit for a mortal to bear,