Dismayed by your breasts, the unblown lily lingers under lake.
The globéd jar leaps into fire.
The honey-apple and the pomegranate abide aloft.
And Shambhu drinks his poison.
Dismayéd by your arms, the golden lily-root leaves not the mud.
Affrighted by your fingers, the flower-stems are shivering!
Vidyāpati asks: How many shall I cite
Of spells of Love like these?
III.
Krishna: Which of the gods this fair face fashioned?
Beauty-surpassing, heart's-bliss-granting,
Garland-victress of the Triple Worlds.
The sun-bright eyes of her fair face
Are tricked with sūrm—
Restless wagtails on a golden lotus,
At play with pitch-black snakes.
The vine of down from her navel's well
Is a serpent thirsting for air:
Thinking in terror her nose is Garuḍa's beak
It hides in the valley of her bosoms' hills.
Love with three arrows conquered Three World's,
Still two of the arrows remained:
Very cruel is Nature to slay the love-lorn,
Surrendering those to her two eyes!
Vidyāpati says: Hearken, fair maids
Who haunt the well of Love:
Rājā Shivasimha Rūpanārāyana
And Lakshmī Devī be witness.
IV.
Krishna: Why did that moon-face cross my path?
Just for one moment her eyes met mine,
Whose sidelong glance is all too keen:
An ill day that for me!