What can I say, my dear? 'Tis measureless!

Rādhā:
What can I say, my dear? 'Tis measureless!
Whether this was a dream, or real, I cannot tell,
Or very near, or far away.

Beneath the winding lightning, darkness came to birth,
Within, a river of heavenly nectar:
The wavering darkness swallowed the sun and moon.
On every hand the stars were falling!

The heavens fell, the hills were overthrown,
The earth quaked hard,
Stormily rose the sighing winds,
The swarms of bees buzzed:

Like an ocean of chaos the waters overflowed,--
Yet this was not an æon's ending!
How can I trow this contrary tale?
Vidyāpati makes enquiry.