Classic Poem

The father of the young girl whose sloping mons is covered
with a lovely skirt of leaves and flowers, whose anklets
are painted with red dots, will not give her to the king
even though he begs for her! A strong gate locked shut
with a crossbar, walls of pounded clay, where a flag always flies
. . . . . . . . .
Together with his followers ferocious as a band of tigers,
he will not be false to his vow. He is spoiling for a fight.
He has ordered his men to don flowers and has bathed in a reservoir.
And the chieftain, while laying his hand on his weapon, has spoken:
“Either tomorrow I will marry that girl who is resplendent
with glittering ornaments, whom no man has ever had, who is
yielding by nature and has the spots of puberty spreading
across her beautiful breasts; or else my body scarred by the cutting
edges of long spears, my strength fired by my Martial Courage
used to hard fighting, I will go to the world from which no one returns!”
This cool city by the river with its fertile tracts of land,
will surely lose its great beauty,
like a cool reservoir roiled into motion by a combat of elephants!