he rose—and clouds gathered and began to rain! Then the bride began to cry aloud: “Dear one, open the door, open it! On this winter night, give me a place upon the bed.
“My father gave no dowry to yours.” “I shall accept no dowry from your father; nor shall I give my own mother money for pilgrimage.”
Setting Out for the Jevanar — Pada 113
See how my dashing bridegroom-king comes toward us, like a rain-bearing cloud in the springtime—my king! Look at his two hands, crimson-red with henna; all his clothing is scarlet, and he bears a fine handkerchief—my king!
Bashfully adorned for pleasure, he wears a garland of flowers around his neck; he rides a horse beneath his bridal headdress—my king! His bearing is truly regal, his every playful gesture royal; a royal prince, this king from Faizabad!
His eyes are like twin roses, as though awakened from a night of love; he is king over both this world and the next. Come, friend—we must surely go meet dark Shyam; that sword-bearing king has left us helpless before him!