Chapter LXXV

_Rādhā:_ Thirsting for fragrance I flew to the flower
But never I came the near,
I saw not a drop of the ocean of honey,
And now the people mock me.

And lo, my dear, the bee bewitched by someone else
And no one passes any judgment thereupon:
By little steps I came to understand him better,
How is his heart as fickle as the lightning.

Forsaking the lily, he followed the screw-pine,
Inhaling its fragrance:
But the thorns have pierced his body
His face is smeared with dust.

Somewhat hurt, I think, he comes again to me,
As though he had been disappointed:
There is one flavour men have never understood--
Distinction of the good and bad.

_Hearken, my good girl, says Vidyāpati;_
_Love is only understood by lovers,--_
_Rājā Shivasimha is the storehouse of all virtues._
_And Rānī Lakshmī Devī his wife!_

MĀNĀNTE MILNA

LXXVI.

_Sakhī:_ The wrath of the wrathful fled afar
Kānu sank in a sea of nectar:
But when he asked for her embrace,
Albeit heavy with love, her lovely body might not bend.

Honeyed was the swain's speech,
Tremulous the beauty's sighs;
Her Lord enfolded her upon his lap.
But yet the flow of nectar was but little.

Gently he kissed her face--her eyes were full of tears,
And though her heart was full of love, yet love was lacking;
Bravely he touched her bosom with his hands.
But even then desire would not awake.

And when at last he loosed her girdle.
Then even, in Hari's bliss, desire was cold.
And even then she felt no gladness:
_Is it pleasure or pain, says Vidyāpati?_