King Monologue from Sakoontala; Or, The Lost Ring: An Indian Drama

From Sakoontala; Or, The Lost Ring: An Indian Drama by Kālidāsa

male · melancholic · 1:02 min

Priyamvadá speaks most truly. Sunk is her velvet cheek; her wasted bosom Loses its fulness; e'en her slender waist Grows more attenuate; her face is wan, Her shoulders droop;--as when the vernal blasts Sear the young blossoms of the Mádhaví (52), Blighting their bloom; so mournful is the change. Yet in its sadness, fascinating still, Inflicted by the mighty lord of love On the fair figure of the hermit's daughter. (S') AKOONTALÁ. Dear friends, to no one would I rather reveal the nature of my malady than to you; but I should only be troubling you. PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. Nay, this is the very point about which we are so solicitous. Sorrow shared with affectionate friends is relieved of half its poignancy.

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