Verse 11

⁸His strength told over by those who go with him, like the first Person whose greatness does not shift, he walks about the wood; and whenever he calls with his flute to the cows grazing on the mountain slopes — ⁹then the creepers and trees of the wood, as though they were showing Visnu inside themselves, heavy with flower and fruit, their branches bowed with the weight, their bodies bristling with love, let honey run down in streams. ¹⁰The mark on his forehead is a thing to see. When his flute is set to his lips, and he takes up gladly that far from slight song he wants, the song of the bee-swarms drunk on the honey of the sweet tulasi in his woodland garland —

¹¹then the cranes and swans and other birds on the lake, their minds carried off by the lovely song, come and wait upon Hari with their thought held in, their eyes shut, look, and keeping silence.