On the sands of Sanuki's shore
folk gather fine seaweed,
and the eye never wearies of this fair land,
a divine land, most excellent, exalted.
Of Iyo's faces it's the one,
as our fathers always said,
for ever perfect—
as earth and sky,
and sun and moon.

And now from Naka's harbor
the ship is under weigh
and over sea I sail
blown by timely breeze towards
the cloudy margin of the sea.
Amid the waters I watch
the ever restless waves,
and on the shore-sands
hear the whitening breakers;
the whale-embracing sea
is vast and awe inspiring.
Now here, now there
I wander with each shift of helm,

and pass many an island
crowding the waters.
Of all islands Samine is fairest,
upon whose pebbled shore I step.
On it I build a scanty shelter,
and gaze around, hearing only
the ceaseless rumble of the waves,
beating on the sandy shore.
I see someone has come to rest
on a couch of rough stones
made by him lying there,
flung prostrate on the beach.

If I knew where his home was,
I would take the sad news there.
If his wife knew what
way to go to seek him out,
she would surely come,
but the sea’s highway she does not know,
and so must wait anxiously,
yearning for his coming home.
His lovely wife is waiting still.

If his wife lived near, on Samine's hill,
she could gather him fresh wild herbs,
for they are growing still.
Upon the shore-sands where the waves
are rolling, ever rolling,
his pillow he has made,
and there has come to rest.