VIII.
Krishna: I could not see her clearly:
Like a vine of lightning flashing from a wreath
of cloud,
She plunged an arrow in my heart.
Half the wimple had slipped, half was her face in smiles.
Half a wave in her eyes:
Half of her bosom I saw, half of the wimple filling,—
Love consumes me ever since.
Bright was her body withal, and golden cups her breasts.
Her bodice, Love transformed:
My wits were routed,— meseems this snare
Was set by Kāmadev.
Pearl-teeth arow her lips did meet.
That murmured gentle words.
Vidyāpati says: Grief haunts my heart:
I saw her indeed, but hope was not sated.
IX.
Krishna: Beholding that my love was at her bath,
She pierced my heart with arrows five,—
The stream of water pouring from her tresses.
Was her moon-face weeping, frighted by their gloom.
The wet cloth clung upon her corse,—
So might Kāma shake a hermit's heart!
Twin breasts were cakravākas sweet.
United by the gods upon the self-same shore,—
Caged in the prison of her arms.
Lest they should fly away in fear.
Vidyāpati, the poet, sings:
The precious maid her lover meets!
X.
Krishna: A joyous day this day for me!
I saw my love when she was bathing,
A stream of water pouring from her hair,—
The clouds were showering strings of pearls!
Wiping her face intentifly,
As though she cleansed a golden mirror,—
Discovering both her breasts.
Where had been set inverted golden cups,
She let her zone fall free:
That was the bound of my desire, says Vidyāpati.
XI.
Krishna: Rāi of the lily face had not yet climbed the bank,
When she beheld brave Kān before her:
'A maid demure, with hanging head, in company of elders.
How was I to see her face?'
But matchless was the bright may's art:
Stepping before them all, she called aloud,
With half-averted face,
And broke withal her string of pearls.
Crying aloud: 'My garland's broken!'
Every person, one and all, was gathering up the beads,—
Then she gazed on Shyāma!
Her partridge-eyes beholding Krishna's moon-fair face.
Were drinking draughts of dew:
Each on the other gazing, spread abroad the taste of bliss,—
That Vidyāpati knoweth well.
XII.
Krishna: She smiled a little when she saw me lurking there—
As if the rising moon lit up the night:
And when she rained on me her sidelong glances,
The heavens became a swarm of bees.
Who knoweth whose the maid may be,
Setting my heart a-shake, and vanishing?
The humble-bee is prisoned in the lotus-flower of love,—
I was amazed to see the timid fair one passing by.
Then was made manifest the beauty of her breasts,—
(Whose heart does not the golden lily snare?)
Half was she hidden, half revealed.
Her globéd breasts told me of her desire.
Vidyāpati says: That was love's dawn:
Whom does Madans secret arrow spare?