To the blossoming shrubs swells the kokila’s song:—
‘In this love-tide of spring when the spirit is glad,
And the parted, yes, only the parted, are sad;
Thy lover, thy Krishna is dancing in glee
With troops of young maidens forgetful of thee.
Dispensing rich odours the sweet madhavî
With its lover-like wreathings encircles the tree;
And oh, e’en a hermit must yield to the power—
The ravishing scent of the malika flower.
‘Saffron robes his body grace;