She's found him, she has, but Radha disbelieves
That it's true, what she sees when her eyes behold
     her master's moonlike face.
Her gaze is fixed, but her mind is glazed,
     her eyes refuse to close;
And her intellect wages a raging debate:
     Is it a dream? Or is this her true Lord?
Her eyes fill and fill with beauty's high pleasure,
     then hide it away in her breast:
Like bees driven wild by any distance from honey
     they dart back and forth from the hoard to the source.
Sometimes she musters her thoughts; she wonders:
     "Who does he love? Who can this Hari be?"
For love, says Sur, is an awkward thing.
     It ripples the mind with waves.