Snow Swan Farewell

The mountains of Shu are green, the rivers long; a beauty stands apart, separated by fate. Last year I saw you off at Baling willow; now I am a lone garrison soldier at Tianshan. Wild geese fly south without bearing letters; the icy river surges at night, sounding like weeping. Snowflakes as large as Jizhou mats cover my golden armor, chilling to the bone. I recall picking lotus on Jinjiang, the orchid boat cutting through the glazed sky. Bare hands parting lotus seeds, bitter; laughing, I tossed the red dress into the water. Suddenly, beacon fires illuminated Ganquan; I have not removed my rhinoceros armor for ten years. Yellow clouds gather over pipa strings; in the sound of the bili, the sun slants. The Longtou water sobs as it flows, flowing to Yumen Pass, turning hair white. The old soldier at Yumen Pass, temples like snow, still speaks of the Han palace's thirty-six autumns. I wish to ride the wind to visit the Purple Palace, but the ninefold gates are guarded by tigers and leopards. I pick up the stone that Nuwa used to mend the sky, to re-adorn the bright moonlight for you. Bright moonlight, vain longing; the withered mulberry breaks, dust flies over the sea. How can I get Lu Yang to wield his golden spear, to hold back the setting sun at Yanzhi? The setting sun suddenly falls west of the Black River; a thousand camps' drums and horns are frosty and bleak. The sword in its sheath roars like a dragon, not to kill the enemy but to weep for you.