2.
The Ganges roars; amid the foliage see
The sharp eyes of the antelope, who springs
Disdainfully along; their colour’d wings
The peacocks as they move, show haughtily.
Deep from the bosom of the sunny lea
Rises a newborn race of flowers, sweet things;
With yearning-madden’d voice Cocila sings—
Yes, thou art fair, no woman’s like to thee!
God Cama[9] lurks in all thy features fair,
He dwells within thy bosom’s tents so white,
And breathes to thee the sweetest songs he knows.
Upon thy lips Vassant[10] has made his lair,
I find within thine eyes new worlds of light,
In my own world no more I find repose.