Beneath the barken dress
Upon the shoulder tied,
In maiden loveliness
Her young breast seems to hide,As when a flower amid
The leaves by autumn tossed—
Pale, withered leaves—lies hid,
And half its grace is lost.
Yet in truth the bark dress is not an enemy to her beauty. It serves as an added ornament. For
The meanest vesture glows
On beauty that enchants:
The lotus lovelier shows
Amid dull water-plants;The moon in added splendour
Shines for its spot of dark;
Yet more the maiden slender
Charms in her dress of bark.
Shakuntala (looking ahead). Oh, girls, that mango-tree is trying to tell me something with his branches that move in the wind like fingers. I must go and see him. (She does so.)
Priyamvada. There, Shakuntala, stand right where you are a minute.
Shakuntala. Why?
Priyamvada. When I see you there, it looks as if a vine were clinging to the mango-tree.
Shakuntala. I see why they call you the flatterer.
King. But the flattery is true.
Her arms are tender shoots; her lips
Are blossoms red and warm;
Bewitching youth begins to flower
In beauty on her form.