The glint of blades and swords has faded, the clang of drums and horns has fallen silent.
Before my eyes, one vivid face after another comes into view.
The ancient roads lie buried in yellow dust, the frontier cities overgrown and desolate.
O years, you cannot take away those familiar names, one after another.
Who decides the rise and fall? What proof is there that glory must fade?
A page of tumultuous times scatters, and the ages transform.
Every meeting and parting is fate; every separation and reunion touches the heart.
We shoulder the deeds of our lives, heedless of how posterity will judge us.
The Yangtze longs to become tears; the Yangtze sings with feeling.
A few stars shimmer in the sky of history.
A heroic spirit courses through the human world,
riding forth, unrestrained.
