THE COCK-FIGHT
By Ts'ao Chih
Our wandering eyes are sated with the dancer's skill,
Our ears are weary with the sound of "kung" and "shang."[1]
Our host is silent and sits doing nothing:
All the guests go on to places of amusement.
········On long benches the sportsmen sit ranged
Round a cleared room, watching the fighting-cocks.
The gallant birds are all in battle-trim:
They raise their tails and flap defiantly.
Their beating wings stir the calm air:
Their angry eyes gleam with a red light.
Where their beaks have struck, the fine feathers are scattered:
With their strong talons they wound again and again.
Their long cries enter the blue clouds;
Their flapping wings tirelessly beat and throb.
"Pray God the lamp-oil lasts a little longer,
Then I shall not leave without winning the match!"
- ↑ Notes of the scale.
