1. With the balm of lover's torment
Dreaming thus my soul to heal,
I, to Kama, god of India,
Kamadeva, did appeal.
2. And he came, the child imperious,
Riding on a cockatoo,
With a winning smile capricious,
On his lips of coral hue.
3. Wings he had, and in his quiver
For his arrow did he keep
Naught but scented poison flowers
From the Ganges wide and deep.
4. Setting in his bow an arrow,
At my breast he arm did take,
And since then for ever weeping
Do I lie the nights awake.
5. Thus it was a poisoned flower
Deep within my breast did send
India's child of purple heavens
And illusions without end.