愚兄也试译作乐，

The Autumn turns the face of the border land

A flock of geese are flying south with no looking back

The sounds from the four directions are in the bugles

Smokes are growing high and long while the falling sun closes down the lonely castle

 

The turbid wine brings the home thousands miles away

No retreat the enemies, no way for home

The long and remote sound of Qiang flute, the frost on every land

Awaken are the grey haired generals and tearful soldiers.