In plain words
A woman tells it: He is coloured like the massing, rising, swelling rain-cloud, and his dark curling locks fall about his face like a swarm of bees round a red lotus. Following the sound of the flute he plays, the herds of deer, spellbound, forgot to graze; the grass they had bitten dropped from the corners of their mouths, and they stood like painted pictures, moving neither forward nor back, not stepping aside.