The rising, rising moon of fall
Glows north on the Liaoyang barricade.
The border is far but the moon gleams farther.
Great ice-bows flash as the winds invade.
Soldiers gaze back: home beats at the heart
And war-steeds balk at the beat of a drum.
The north wind grieves in the frontier gra**
And barbarous sands hide hordes to come.
Frost freezes their swordblades into the sheath.
Wind wears their banner to bits on the plain...
Oh someday.... someday... to bow near the palace
And never hear camp-gongs clang again!