love.

He embraces one woman, he kisses another, and fondles another
beautiful one.
He looks at another one lovely with smiles, and starts in pursuit of
another woman.
Krishna here disports himself with charming women given to love.[54]

Suddenly Radha sees Krishna[55] and going into the midst of the cowgirls,
she kisses him violently and clasps him to her; but Krishna is so inflamed
by the other girls that he abandons her in a thicket.

As Radha broods on his behaviour, she is filled with bitter sadness.[56]
Yet her love is still so strong that she cannot bring herself to blame
him and instead calls to mind his charm.

I remember Krishna, the jests he made, who placed his sport in the
pastoral dance,
The sweet of whose nectar of lips kept flowing with notes of his luring
melodious flute,
With the play of whose eyes and the toss of whose head the earrings
kept dangling upon his cheeks.

I remember Krishna, the jests he made, who placed his sport in the
pastoral dance,
Whose brow had a perfect sandal spot, as among dark clouds the disc
of the moon,
Whose door-like heart was without pity when crushing the bosoms of
swelling breasts.

Desire even now in my foolish mind for Krishna,
For Krishna--without me--lusting still for the herd-girls.
Seeing only the good in his nature, what shall I do?
Agitated I feel no anger. Pleased without cause, I acquit him.

And she continues:

O make him enjoy me, my friend, that Krishna so fickle,
I who am shy like a girl on her way to the first of her trysts of love,
He who is charming with flattering words, I who am tender
In speech and smiling, he on whose hip the garment lies loosely worn.

O make him enjoy me, my friend, that Krishna so fickle,
Me who sweated and moistened all over my body with love's exertion,
That Krishna whose cheeks were lovely with down all standing on end
as he thrilled,
Whose half-closed eyes were languid, and restless with brimming
desire.

O make him enjoy me, my friend, that Krishna so fickle,
Me whose masses of curls were like loose-slipping flowers, whose
amorous words
Were vague as of doves, that Krishna whose bosom is marked
With scratches, surpassing all in his love that the science of love
could teach.

O make him enjoy me, my friend, that Krishna so fickle,
To whose act of desire accomplished the anklets upon my feet bejewelled
Vi