In the blossomland, in Japan,

Somewhere thus an old song ran:

“Hammer me a sword forthwith;

 “Make the blade 

Light as wind on water laid,”

Said the warrior to the smith.

Make the blade long as the wheat at harvest song.

Supple, swift As a snake, without rift,

Full of lightning, thousandeyed!

Smooth as silken cloth and thin 

As the web that spiders spin.

And merciless as pain, and cold.”

“On the hilt what shall be told?”

“On the sword’s hilt, my good man,”

Said the warrior of Japan,

“Trace for me A running lake,

a flock of sheep 

And one who sings her child to sleep.”

 

在日本的開花島，

在某個時候，這樣的一首老歌蔓延：

「立刻給我錘打一把劍；

 「讓刀片

如同水面上的風那般輕盈，」

武士對鐵匠如此說道。

讓刀片像豐收時的小麥一樣長。

容易彎曲，迅速如蛇，沒有裂口，

充滿閃電，千隻眼睛！

如同絲綢布料般的柔順而且輕薄

就像蜘蛛結的網。

如疼痛般殘忍，而且無情。」

「關於劍的柄，需要說些什麼嗎？」

「至於劍的柄，老兄，」

日本武士說道，

「替我查出一個奔跑的湖泊，

一群羊

以及一個唱歌讓她的孩子入睡的人。」