By V. V. CHINTAMANI

I crushed the Champak at her cheeks,

And drank the honey at her lips,

In sumptuous epicurean freaks

I danced like bees on jasmine tips.

Intoxicated of my feast

I lay entranced upon her lap;

Nor ever knew I in the least

That heaven thus would men enwrap!

She smiled like lightning in the clouds,

She wept like dew at break of day,

And with her lace-wrought silken shrouds

Wrapped me transported as I lay.