The Praise of her Beau
Hail thee, aniccham, the soft flower! The damsel I dote is softer than thee! O heart, why get distracted seeing common flowers And match them with her eyes! She has a slender frame, pearly smile, fragrant breath, Lancet eyes and bamboo shoulders. Unable to match the eyes of this jewel, Lilies droop down earthwards in shame. The solemn drums will blare if her waist is crushed By the aniccham she wore with its stalk. The perplexed stars are all over the place, Unable to tell the moon from her face. Are there spots on my love’s face Like the spots on the shining moon? Hail O moon! If you could also shine as my love’s face, You too I shall love. O moon, if you imitate my flower-eyed jewel’s face, Stop revealing thyself to all. Even aniccham flower and swan's down Are as nerunji fruit to my maidens’ feet.