O lovely woman, give me now the nectar of your lips, infuse new life into this slave of yours, so dead, This slave, whose heart is placed in you, whose body burned in separation, this slave denied the pleasure of your love. Radha yields and as the night passes they achieve height upon height of sexual bliss. Their love play grown great was very delightful, the love play where thrills were a hindrance to firm embraces, Where their helpless closing of eyes was a hindrance to longing looks at each other, and their secret talk to their drinking of each the other's nectar of lips, and where the skill of their love was hindered by boundless delight. She loved as never before throughout the course of the conflict of love, to win, lying over his beautiful body, to triumph over her lover; And so through taking the active part her thighs grew lifeless, and languid her vine-like arms, and her heart beat fast, and her eyes grew heavy and closed. In the morning most wondrous, the heart of her lord was smitten with arrows of Love, arrows which went through his eyes, Arrows which were her nailed-scratched bosom, her reddened sleep-denied eyes, her crimson lips from a bath of kisses, her hair disarranged with the flowers awry, and her girdle all loose and slipping. With hair knot loosened and stray locks waving, her cheeks perspiring, her glitter of lips impaired, And the necklace of pearls not appearing fair because of her jar-shaped breast being denuded, And her belt, her glittering girdle, dimmed in beauty, The happy one drank of the face where the lips were washed with the juice of his mouth, His mouth half open uttering amorous noises, vague and delirious, the rows of teeth in the breath of an indrawn sigh delightedly chattering. Drank of the face of that deer-eyed woman whose body lay helpless, released of excessive delight, the thrilling delight of embraces. When their passion is at last ended, Radha begs Krishna to help her with her toilet. She said to the joy of her heart, Adorn the curl on my brow which puts the lotus to shame, my spotless brow, Make a beautiful spot on my forehead, a spot with the paste of the sandal, O giver of pride, on my tresses, untidy now on account of desire, place flowers, Place on my hips the girdle, the clothes and the jewels, Cover my beautiful loins, luscious and firm, the cavern of Love to be feared. Make a pattern upon my breasts and a picture on my cheeks and fasten over my loins a girdle, Bind my masses of hair with a beautiful garland and place many bracelets upon my hands and jewelled anklets upon my feet. Krishna does so and with a final celebration of Krishna as God and of the song itself--its words 'sweeter than sugar, like love's own glorious flavour'--the poem ends. [Footnote 51: Note 18.] [Footnote 52: Plate 20.] [Footnote 53: Plates 21 and 22.]