Under a Border-Fortress
Drink, my horse, while we cross the autumn water!—
The stream is cold and the wind like a sword,
As we watch against the sunset on the sandy plain,
Far, far away, shadowy Lintao.
Old battles, waged by those long walls,
Once were proud on all men's tongues
But antiquity now is a yellow dust,
Confusing in the grasses its ruins and white bones.
The stream is cold and the wind like a sword,
As we watch against the sunset on the sandy plain,
Far, far away, shadowy Lintao.
Old battles, waged by those long walls,
Once were proud on all men's tongues
But antiquity now is a yellow dust,
Confusing in the grasses its ruins and white bones.
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