Who was artificer at her creation?
Was it the moon, bestowing its own charm?
as it the graceful month of spring, itself
Compact with love, a garden full of flowers?
That ancient saint there, sitting in his trance,
Bemused by prayers and dull theology,
Cares naught for beauty: how could he create
Such loveliness, the old religious fool.
From Old Sanskrit | Kalidasa
Juvenilia 