By a wall that circles the three Ch'in districts, In a mist that makes five rivers one, We bid each other a sad farewell, We two official wanderers. . . . And yet, while the Four Seas bind our friendship And heaven remains our neighborhood [...]
Snow whitens mountains westward and the forts of three cities, Waters from the southern lakes flash on miles of bridge; Wind and dust from sea to sea shut me from my brothers;
A wanderer hears drums, warning him of war, And that one cry of autumn from a wild-goose at the border, And he knows that the dews tonight will be frost
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