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The Candle Dragon dwells in the cold gate; its radiant light still opens like dawn.
Why do the sun and moon, shining upon it, fail to reach this place? Only the north wind comes roaring down from the heavens.
On Mount Yan, snowflakes are as large as mats, each one blown down upon the Xuanyuan Terrace.
In Youzhou, a woman longing for her husband in the twelfth month stops singing and ceases to smile, her brows drawn in sorrow.
Wei Xu’s Mobile Heavenly Eye sees through all; leaning against the gate, she watches passersby,
Thinking of you suffering in the bitter cold at the Great Wall—truly, it is heartrending. Amitabha.
When we parted, you raised your sword to go and save the frontier, leaving behind this tiger-patterned golden scabbard.
Inside it was a pair of white-feathered arrows; spiders have spun webs over them, and dust has gathered.
Wei Xu’s Mobile arrows remain in vain; their owner has died in battle and will not return.
The Heavenly Eye cannot bear to look upon this sight, so it burned them to ash.
Even the Yellow River could be dammed by carrying earth in handfuls; but the hatred of the north wind, rain, and snow is impossible to dispel.