Gita Govinda 2.2.19

2.2.19

His playful flute slipped from his hand, his eyebrow-creeper curved, glances from the corners of his eyes driving off the throng of cowherd girls, / his cheek-region drenched with abundant sweat, / seeing me and embarrassed, his charming face sweet with a smile in the forest— / I see Govinda surrounded by the multitude of Vraja's beauties, and I rejoice.