My heart sank when I headed north from Yen Country
To the camps of China echoing with bugle and drum.
. . . In an endless cold light of massive snow,
Tall flags on three borders rise up like a dawn.
War-torches invade the barbarian moonlight,
Mountain-clouds like chairmen bear the Great Wall from the sea.
. . . Though no youthful clerk meant to be a great general, I
throw aside my writing-brush—
Like the student who tossed off cap for a lariat, I challenge what may come.