English Rendering
Leaning on the battlement, I gaze afar,
A homesick sorrow rises dark and deep.
Frost lies white on reed flowers bare,
Hills fade in mist where night dews weep.
Wild geese descend on sandy bars,
War drums boom from Tartar posts—startling the air.
A lone tree stands in autumn’s scars;
I sing mad songs, my tears stain the tassels there.
