白雪歌送武判官歸京

Snapping the pallid grass, the northern wind whirls low;
In the eighth moon the Tartar sky is filled with snow
As if the vernal breeze had come back overnight,
Adorning thousands of pear trees with blossoms white.
Flakes enter pearled blinds and wet the silken screen;
No furs of fox can warm us nor brocade quilts green.
The general cannot draw his rigid bow with ease;
Even the commissioner in coat of mail would freeze.
A thousand feet over cracked wilderness ice piles,
And gloomy clouds hang sad and drear for miles and miles.
We drink in headquarters to our guest homeward bound;
With Tartar lutes, pipas and pipes the camps resound.
Snow in large flakes at dusk falls heavy on camp gate;
The frozen red flag in the wind won't undulate.
At eastern gate of Wheel Tower we bid goodbye
On the snow-covered road to Heaven's Mountain high.
I watch his horse go past a bend and, lost to sight,
His track will soon be buried up by snow in flight.