From Vikramorvasie by Kalidasa

translated by Sri Aurobindo


What cry is this that breaks upon our prologue

From upper worlds, most like the wail distressed

Of ospreys, sad but sweet as moan of bees

Drunken with honey in deep summer bloom,

Or the low cry of distant cuckoo? or hear I

Women who move on Heaven’s azure stage

Splendid with rows of seated Gods, and chant

In airy syllables a liquid sweetness?