Across the steppes the bitter north winds
roam,
At dawn the Tartar moon shines cold and
bright;
My soul relapses into dreams of home,
Till the loud rappel summons to the fight.
Han Yu A.D 768-824
Across the steppes the bitter north winds
roam,
At dawn the Tartar moon shines cold and
bright;
My soul relapses into dreams of home,
Till the loud rappel summons to the fight.
Han Yu A.D 768-824