The toppling clouds fell down on earth,
The pleasant mountain-kings rose up on high:
I likewise, gazing in the emerald mirror,
Fell there where neither up nor down are known.
Newly advised was Kān, my lord,
His sayings overpowered me:
He gave a refuge to the homeless—
Shamefast I was and hid my heart's fire.
The prince of wantons folded me upon his lap.
And with the wimple wiped the dews of weariness,
Fanning me gently, I fell asleep.
Vidyāpati exclaims: Delight beyond compare!
LXXXIX.
Rādhā: What can I say, my dear? 'Tis measureless!
Whether this was a dream, or real, I cannot tell,
Or very near, or far away.
Beneath the winding lightning, darkness came to birth,
Within, a river of heavenly nectar:
The wavering darkness swallowed the sun and moon.
On every hand the stars were falling!
The heavens fell, the hills were overthrown,
The earth quaked hard,
Stormily rose the sighing winds,
The swarms of bees buzzed:
Like an ocean of chaos the waters overflowed,—
Yet this was not an æon's ending!
How can I trow this contrary tale?
Vidyāpati makes enquiry.
XC.
Sakhī: Her wandering hair was mingled with the circle of her face—
A wreath of clouds across the moon:
Jewelled earrings swung from her ears,
Her tilka ran with sweat.