On the twenty-sixth day of the Third Moon [May 16], the dawn sky was misty. There was a wan moon, and in the faint morning light I could just make out in the distance, the summit of Fuji and, nearby, the tops of the cherry trees of Ueno and Yanaka. Would I ever see these sights again, I wondered, feeling rather forlorn. My closest friends, who had been with us since the night before, came on the riverboat to see us off. We disembarked at a place called Senju, and my heart was heavy at the thought of the miles that lay ahead. And though this ephermeral world is but an illusion, I could not bear to part from it and wept.

Loath to let spring go,
Birds cry, and even fishes'
Eyes are wet with tears.

I composed this verse as the beginning to my travel diary, and we set off, but our feet dragged and we made little progress. Our friends stood on the road and watched us until we were out of sight.