They rush to battle with their foes;[633]

But in Sugríva's sloth I see

No care for deeds of chivalry.

See, Lakshmaṇ, on each breezy height

A thousand autumn blooms are bright.

See how the wings of wild swans gleam

On every islet of the stream.

Four months of flood and rain are past:

A hundred years they seemed to last

To me whom toil and trouble tried,