(1)

Seated, she caresses Earth and cries “This Earth is Vishnu’s;”

Salutes the sky and bids us “behold the Heaven He ruleth;”

Or standing with tear-filled eyes cries aloud “O sea-hued Lord!”

All helpless am I, my friends, my child He has rendered mad.

(2)

Or joining her hands she fancies “the Sea where my Lord reposes!”

Or hailing the ruddy Sun she cries: “Yes, this is His form,”

Languid, she bursts into tears and mutters Narayan’s name.

I am dazed at the things she is doing, my gazelle, my child shaped god-like.

(3)

Knowing, she embraces red Fire, is scorched and cries “O Deathless!”

And she hugs the Wind; “’Tis my own Govinda,” she tells us.

She smells of the honied Tulsi, my gazelle-like child. Ah me!

How many the pranks she plays for my sinful eyes to behold.

(4)

The rising moon she showeth, “’Tis the shining gem-hued Krishna!”

Or, eyeing the standing hill, she cries: “O come, high Vishnu!”

It rains; and she dances and cries out “He hath come, the God of my love!”

O the mad conceits He hath given to my tender, dear one!

(5)

The soft-limbed calf she embraces, for “Such did Krishna tend,”

And follows the gliding serpent, explaining “That is His couch.”

I know not where this will end, this folly’s play in my sweet one

Afflicted, ay, for my sins, by Him, the Divine Magician.

(6)

Where tumblers dance with their pots, she runs and cries “Govinda;”

At the charming notes of a flute she faints, for “Krishna, He playeth.”

When cowherd dames bring butter, she is sure it was tasted by Him,–

So mad for the Lord who sucked out the Demoness’ life through her bosom!

(7)

In rising madness she raves, “All worlds are by Krishna made”

And she runs after folk ash-smeared; forsooth, they serve high Vishnu!

Or she looks at the fragrant Tulsi and claims Narayan’s garland.

She is ever for Vishnu, my darling, or in, or out of her wits.

(8)

And in all your wealthy princes she but sees the Lord of Lakshmi.

At the sight of beautiful colours, she cries, “O my Lord world-scanning!”

And all the shrines in the land, to her, are shrines of Vishnu.

In awe and in love, unceasing, she adores the feet of that Wizard.

(9)

All Gods and saints are Krishna – Devourer of infinite Space!

And the huge, dark clouds are Krishna; all fain would she fly to reach them.

Or the kine, they graze on the meadow and thither she runs to find Him.

The Lord of Illusions, He makes my dear one pant and rave.

(10)

Languid she stares around her or gazes afar into space;

She sweats and with eyes full of tears she sighs and faints away;

Rising, she speaks but His name and cries, “Do come, O Lord.”

Ah, what shall I do with my poor child o’erwhelmed by this maddest love?