Spring the warrior hither comes, bowstring formed by rows of bees. And his darts tipp'd with buds wound our hearts with sweet lovelonging. Now the trees put forth their flowers, on the lakes the lilies fair show their heads midst the waves melting hearts with sweet lovelonging. What fair maid can vie with spring? What sweet voice the cuckoo's song? Or smiling teeth the jasmine's hue? Or rosy lips the op'ning flowers? Bending down with blushing buds, flaming mango branches wave to and fro with the breeze filling hearts with sweet lovelonging. And within the lotus flower dwells her love, the murm'ring bee who with kiss and embrace satisfies her sweet lovelonging.
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