Ramayana 4.122a

Again she bent her to the ground, Her arms about her husband wound. Sobbed on his breast, and sick and faint With anguish poured her wild complaint: "Brave in the charge of battle, boast And glory of the Vanar host, Why on the cold earth wilt thou lie And give no answer when I cry? Up, warrior, from thy lowly bed! A meeter couch for thee is spread. It ill beseems a glorious king On the bare ground his limbs to fling. Ah, surely must thy love be strong For her whom thou hast governed long, If thou, my hero, canst recline On her cold breast forsaking mine. Or, famed for justice through the land, Thou on the road to heaven hast planned Some city fairer far than this To be thy new metropolis. Are all our pleasures ended now, With those delicious hours which thou And I, dear lord, together spent In woods that breathed the honey's scent? Whelmed in my sorrow's boundless sea, There is no joy, no hope, for me, When my beloved lord, who led The Vanars to the fight, is dead, My widowed heart is stern and cold. Or, at the sight mine eyes behold, O'ermastered would it end this ache And in a thousand fragments break. Ah noble Vanar, doomed to pay The penalty of all today-- Sugriva from his home expelled, And Ruma(601) from his arms withheld. Our Vanar race and thee to save, Wise counsel for thy weal I gave; But thou, by wildest folly stirred, Wouldst give no credence to my word, And now wilt woo the nymphs above, And shake their souls with pangs of love. Ah, never could it be that thou Beneath Sugriva's power shouldst bow, Thy conqueror is none but Fate Whose mandates all who breathe await. And does no thrill of anguish run Through the stern breast of Raghu's son, Whose base hand dealt a coward's blow, And smote thee fighting with thy foe? Reft of my lord my days, alas! In bitter bitter woe will pass: And I, long blest with every good, Must bear my dreary widowhood.