Gita Govinda 1.4.19

1.4.19

Her hair bristles, she makes whistling cries of pain, she laments, she trembles violently, she languishes, / she meditates, she wanders in confusion, she closes her eyes, she collapses, she rises up, and she even swoons. / In such intense fever of love, would that slender-bodied woman not live through your passion, / O you who resemble the physician of the gods, if you show grace? Otherwise, her hand has been abandoned [as dead]!