Will she, with joys encompassed long,

Who loved the music and the song,

In the wild wood endure to hear

The ravening lion's voice of fear?

Where sleeps my strong-armed hero, where,

Like Lord Mahendra's standard, fair?

Where is, by Lakshmaṇ's side, his bed,

His club-like arm beneath his head?

When shall I see his flower-like eyes,

And face that with the lotus vies,