The Birth of Kumāra 4.8

4.8

smarasi smara mekhalāguṇairuta gotraskhaliteṣu bandhanam |
cyutakeśaradūṣitekṣaṇānyavataṃsotpalatāḍanāni vā ||

Káma, dear Káma, call again to mind
How thou wast ever gentle, I was kind—
Let not my prayer, thy Reti's prayer, be vain,
Come as of old, and bless these eyes again!
Wilt thou not hear me?—think of those sweet hours
When I would bind thee with my zone of flowers.
Those soft gay fetters o'er thee fondly wreathing,
Thine only punishment when gently breathing
In tones of love thy heedless sigh betrayed
The name, dear traitor! of some rival maid;
Then would I pluck a flowret from my tress
And beat thee till I forced thee to confess,
While in my play the falling leaves would cover
The eyes—the bright eyes—of my captive lover.
And then those words that made me, oh, so blest—
"Dear love, thy home is in my faithful breast!"
Alas, sweet words, too blissful to be true,
Or how couldst thou have died, nor Reti perish too?