The Birth of Kumāra 1.47

1.47

tasyāḥ śalākāñjananirmiteva kāntirbhruvorāyatalekhayoryā |
tāṃ vīkṣya lilācaturāmanaṅgaḥ svacāpasaundaryamadaṃ mumoca ||

Tremulous like lilies when the breezes sigh,
Which learnt it first—so winning and so mild—
The gentle fawn, or Mena's gentler child?
And oh, the arching of her brow! so fine
Was the rare beauty of its pencilled line—
Love gazed upon her forehead in despair
And spurned the bow he once esteemed so fair:
Her long bright tresses too might shame the pride
Of envious antelopes on the mountain-side.
Surely the Maker's care had been to cull
From all that's lovely the most beautiful,
As if the world's Creator would behold
All beauty centred in a single mould.