Hearken, fair young thing says Vidyāpati:
No other thought be in your heart!
Oft is life lost for sake of love,
Who does not know this in the world?
XCVII.
Rādhā: Why would you burn my body, O thou Bodiless?
I am not Shankara, but a gentle girl,
This is my flowing hair, not matted locks,
Not Gangā, but a jasmine garland on my head.
This is a pearl tiara, not the moon,
No eye upon my forehead, but a scarlet beauty-spot:
Not poison, but a trace of musk upon my throat,
A necklace on my breast, and not the lord of serpents.
Blue silk my robe, and not a tiger's skin,
This is a lotus of delight, and not a skull!
All this is loveliness, says Vidyāpati:
Not ashes on her limbs, but dust of Malaya.
XCVIII.
Dūtika: Often, in meditation on the name of Mādhava,
She changes into Mādhava himself:
Forgetful of her own desires and of her own identity,
She is enamoured of her own charms.