She
Like a serpent to the calling voice of flutes, Glides my heart into thy fingers, O my Love! Where the night-wind, like a lover, leans above His jasmine-gardens and sirisha-bowers; And on ripe boughs of many- coloured fruits Bright parrots cluster like vermilion flowers.
He
Like the perfume in the petals of a rose, Hides thy heart within my bosom, O my love! Like a garland, like a jewel, like a dove That hangs its nest in the asoka-tree. Lie still, O love, until the morning sows Her tents of gold on fields of ivory.
