Riding westward, I aim for the heavens, having seen the moon full twice since leaving home.
Tonight, I know not where I'll rest, amidst endless sands devoid of human presence.
Longing to climb high, yet no one brings wine.
From afar, I pity the chrysanthemums of my homeland, likely blooming beside the battlefield.
The black-named barbarian king in his sable coat, drunk with grape palace brocade around his head.
The old general of the West can still fight hard, at seventy, he marches on without stop.
Lost in the yellow sand desert, the clouds and sky seem to press down from all sides.
As the earth ends, so does the sky, and I continue westward to Anxi.
Looking eastward to my distant homeland, my sleeves are soaked with tears.
Meeting on horseback without pen or paper, I entrust you to convey my safety.