The moon in added splendour
Shines for its spot of dark;
Yet more the maiden slender
Charms in her dress of bark.

_Shakuntala_ (_looking ahead_). Oh, girls, that mango-tree is trying
to tell me something with his branches that move in the wind like
fingers. I must go and see him. (_She does so_.)

_Priyamvada_. There, Shakuntala, stand right where you are a minute.

_Shakuntala_. Why?

_Priyamvada_. When I see you there, it looks as if a vine were
clinging to the mango-tree.

_Shakuntala_. I see why they call you the flatterer.

_King_. But the flattery is true.

Her arms are tender shoots; her lips
Are blossoms red and warm;
Bewitching youth begins to flower
In beauty on her form.

_Anusuya_. Oh, Shakuntala! Here is the jasmine-vine that you named
Light of the Grove. She has chosen the mango-tree as her husband.

_Shakuntala_ (_approaches and looks at it, joyfully_). What a pretty
pair they make. The jasmine shows her youth in her fresh flowers, and