走馬川行奉送封大夫出師西征

Song of Zuma River: seeing off General Feng on his western expedition

You have not seen the running-horse river, beside the snowy sea of sand,

the flat sands stretching endlessly, yellow merging into the sky.

At Luntai, the ninth month, the wind howls through the night,

a valley of crushed stones large as bushel measures,

rolling across the ground, tossed by the wind in wild confusion.

The Xiongnu grass grows yellow, their horses grow fat,

west of the Altai Mountains smoke and dust are seen to fly.

The great general of the House of Han marches forth to the west,

the general does not remove his golden armor even at night.

At midnight the army moves on, spear points clashing against each other,

the wind's edge like a blade, the face cut as if by a knife.

The horses' manes carry snow, their sweat steams in the cold,

the patterned coins of their coats freeze solid in an instant.

In the tent, drafting proclamations, the water in the inkstone has frozen,

the enemy cavalry, hearing of this, must surely be struck with terror.

We can foretell that they will not dare meet us hand to hand—

at the western gate of Cheshi they will stand and present their surrender.