On the dark orbs of her bosom—
Passionately heaved—
Sink and rise the warm, white pearl-strings,
Oh, my love deceived!
Fair? yes, yes! the rippled shadow
Of that midnight hair
Shows above her brow—as clouds do
O'er the moon—most fair:
And she knows, with wilful paces,
How to make her zone
Gleam and please him; and her ear-rings
Tinkle love; and grown
Coy as he grows fond, she meets him
With a modest show;
Shaming truth with truthful seeming,
While her laugh—light, low—
And her subtle mouth that murmurs.
And her silken cheek,
And her eyes, say she dissembles
Plain as speech could speak.
Till at length, a fatal victress,
Of her triumph vain,
On his neck she lies and smiles there:—
Ah, my Joy!—my Pain!
But may Radha's fond annoy,
And may Krishna's dawning joy,
Warm and waken love more fit—
Jayadeva prayeth it—
And the griefs and sins assuage
Of this blind and evil age.
O Moon! (she sang) that art so pure and pale,
Is Krishna wan like thee with lonely waiting?
O lamp of love! art thou the lover's friend,
And wilt not bring him, my long pain abating?
O fruitless moon! thou dost increase my pain
O faithless Krishna! I have striven in vain.
And then, lost in her fancies sad, she moaned—
(What follows is to the Music Gurjjarî and the Mode Ekatâlî)
In vain, in vain!
Earth will of earth! I mourn more than I blame;
If he had known, he would not sit and paint
The tilka on her smooth black brow, nor claim
Quick kisses from her yielded lips—false, faint—
False, fragrant, fatal! Krishna's quest is o'er
By Jumna's shore!