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 [...]
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
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;
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