Ah Mādhava! I saw the fair one freely,
I suddenly beheld her as she bathed;
The filmy muslin clung upon her breast,—
Happy he who sees her thus!
Her jet-black hair poured down her breast
As though a shaggy yak concealed a gold Mahesh:
Hearken Murāri, Vidyāpati saith:
So fair a may may dally with a man of worth.
XVII.
Krishna: Now and again her eyes to their corners fly,
Now and again her filmy robe receives them;
Now and again her serried teeth laugh out,
Now and again the smile delays upon her lips.
Sometimes she hurries nervously, sometimes she walks but slowly,
Now for the first time learning Madan's lessons:
She steals a glance at her breasts' buds,—
Sometimes she draws the wimple close, sometimes she stands astonished.
Childhood and youth are met in her.
None knoweth which is first or last:
Hearken, O Kāna, says Vidyāpati,
The marks of youth and childhood are indivisible.
XVIII.
Krishna: Childhood and youth are face to face,—
She stands uncertain, in the hold of rival factions:
Sometimes she binds her hair, sometimes she lets it fall,
Sometimes she hides her body, sometimes she leaves it bare.
Her tranquil eyes are somewhat troubled,
There where the breasts arise are purple stains,
Her restless feet reflect her heart's unrest:
Madan awakes, whose eyes were shut.
Hearken, Murāri, saith Vidyāpati:
Sustain with patience till I bring her.