Though I knit my brow, my gaze is fixed longingly anyway. Though I check my tongue, this tortured face of mine dissolves in a smile. Though I drive my heart to hardness, my body bears the gooseflesh of desire. When I see that man, how on earth can my anger survive?
Amaru (c. seventh century A.D.), Kashmirian king, compiler, author of some of the poems in the anthology which bears his name. translated from the Amaruataka by Martha Ann Selby, vs. 28, Motilal Banarsidass (1983).