Gita Govinda 2.4.2

2.4.2

She curses the sandalwood paste, and feels restless grief at the rays of the moon;
she considers the breeze from the Malaya mountains to be like poison from its contact with serpents' dens.
She is wretched in separation from you,
O Mādhava, absorbed in meditation on you as if out of fear of the arrows of mind-born love.