Snow is white on the westward mountains and on three fortified towns, And waters in this southern lake flash on a long bridge. But wind and dust from sea to sea bar me from my brothers; And I cannot help crying, I am so far away. I have nothing to expect now but the ills of old age. I am of less use to my country than a grain of dust. I ride out to the edge of town. I watch on the horizon, Day after day, the chaos of the world.