Sakhī: Happy is your birth, and blest your beauty!
For all are crying upon Kānu, Kānu,
And he is laden deep with love of you.
The longing cloud desires the cātak,
The moon desires the partridge,
The vine upholds the full-grown tree,—
There is amazement in my heart!
When there you stood with hanging hair,
Across your breast but half its veil,
Then Kānu, seeing all, was sorely troubled,—
Tell me, dear damsel, what is your intent?
When you laughed and showed your teeth,
With hand on hand held over head,
And your unconscious glances pierced his heart,—
Then seeing him, you took a maiden on your lap!
Such is my tale of you, O beauty,
Advise you thereupon:
You are the idol of his heart, and he a frame forlorn,
Says Vidyāpati the poet.
XXVI.
Sakhī: Hearken, hearken, O virtuous Rādhā:
Murdering Mādhava, what is the good you will gain?
By day the moon is pale and lonely,
Likewise he waxes thinner and thinner:
His rings and bracelets slip,—
I think he must remake them many times.
I cannot understand your ways;
The poet rests his head upon his hands!