The crimson patches of the evening sky

Are mirrored bright upon the Kalindi

And lo! her bosom seems to be aglow

With long levels of crimson lotuses!

Is this, thy sheen, O River resplendent

By Lord Sree Krishna's feet incarnadined?

Is it the vermilion upon the breasts

Of nymphs to tint His dear delightful form?

The rhythmic dance of the softly blowing breeze

Upon thy wavelets breaking line on line

Doth breathe the balm of empyreal bliss

And shake my frame with glowing ecstasy.

The ripple of thy water's steady flow

That fills mine ears with such mellifluence

Doth seem to me the modulations sweet

And sacred of His venu’s melody.

O Brindavan! beaming, beauteous, bright,

Bordered blue by the brimming Kalindi

And where my Darling Little One doth trip

With feet licked by the kine to glossiness,

I wish I were born in a nook in thee

As a tender blade of gross! Ah woodland!

Thou art a paradise pure on this Earth

A world of cows where peace and plenty dwell,

A world un-excelled in felicity;

And Ye! mandar, malli, and malati

Who ope softly with white-eyed wonder sweet,

Is not your glory whitened by the waves

Of my Lord's genial and lingering smile?

The lowing of the kine that penwards wend

Swells softly, softly from Ambadi nigh,

And in the billows bursting from the sound

My sins are washed, a hallow'd being I turn.

The setting Sun ruddies the straw-thatched roofs

Of Gokul’s houses rising row by row;

He leaves his crimson glory unto Him

The Almighty who dwells in Ambadi.

The jingling of bells round the necks of calves

When to and fro they run in sportive mirth

Rings unto heaven's vault and seems to chime

Like as a clock the dying hour of day.

Let mansions big and decked with domes of gold

And rising town and tower innumer'ble

Bow low unto the tiny thatched-homesteads

Of Gokul, for abideth not here He

The Lord of the Goddess of Opulence?

As fair as she that rose resplendently

From out the milky deep the gopis are,

And when they milk the cows licking their calves

With hands wont to fondle the Darling Child

Their bracelets tune forth merry melodies

Which swell and float and fill this blissful world.

And when the milk foams up the milking pails

Its tiny bubbles like to eyes do wink

And seem to ask: "Where is that little thief

Of milk and butter? O where is He?"

O Akroora, thou thirsty chatak bird!

Get down, get down from out thy chariot

And look! for there standeth thy dark-blue cloud

Yonder, watching the milking of the kine.

He is a dark and divine baby born

Out of the long, long penance of the pair

Of Vasudev and Devaki, the good;

He is a heav'nly light kindled by God

In Nanda's home. He's a sapphire that burns

Upon the breast of blessed Yasoda,

He is a darling bird that wings gaily

From vine to vine and shining greenery ;

He is a radiant black majestic swan

Sporting on the sands by the Kalindi,

He is a chum delightful of the boys,

He is the soul-force of the Vedantins.

He holds the cowherd's flute and staff–the twain

In his left hand, whilst with the tender right

Thai bears the sceptre swaying triple worlds

He caresses the sheeny skin of calves;

And as around a vine bright coronals

Of jasmines bloom, children encircle Him,

And them with words sweetened by honied smiles

He doth delight and ringing laugh provoke.

His cloud-dark hair bedeck'd with peacock plumes

Is trailing down, for undone is its knot,

And in His forehead fringed by gleaming pearls

Faded is the fair tilak by beads of sweat;

The saffron silk adown His shoulder hangs

In sweet disorder; it is stained in mire;

His frame flecked with woodland particles

Doth seem an uncut gem and unchiselled;

Unappeas'd is His desire for wandering,

And when His mother with a vase of gold

Filled with oil calls Him aloud for bath

He feigns He has not heard that darling call;

But when the neighbouring maids do beckon Him

And say, "Want you white butter, dear?," He trips

Towards them blithefully and His anklets

Tinkle, tinkle with a mellow melody.

And Akroora did see the Divine form,

The Root of Wisdom, Lord of all the worlds,

And lo! in him a chastening influence

Some unseen goodly force infused and he

Felt him a transformed man, a new being!

Dived right adown the nectar's depths by depths

Forgot he all the outward elements,

And jumping from out the chariot he rushed

Towards the Lord and by His lotus-feet

He rolled and rolled–a bhakti-maddened man.