Canto 4The Lost Deliverer
Book 1. Part One - England and Baroda 1883 – 1898
England and Baroda, 1883–1898
O tireless voice of spring! Again I lie
In odorous gloom of trees; unseen and near
The windlark gurgles in the golden leaves,
5The woodworm spins in shrillness on the bough:
Thou by the waters wailing to thy love,
O chocrobacque! have comfort, since to thee
The dawn brings sweetest recompense of tears
And she thou lovest hears thy pain. But I
10Am desolate in the heart of fruitful months,
Am widowed in the sight of happy things,
Uttering my moan to the unhous`ed winds,
O co¨ıl, co¨ıl, to the winds and thee.
Goethe
15A perfect face amid barbarian faces,
A perfect voice of sweet and serious rhyme,
Traveller with calm, inimitable paces,
Critic with judgment absolute to all time,
A complete strength when men were maimed and weak,
20German obscured the spirit of a Greek.
The Lost Deliverer
Pythian he came; repressed beneath his heel
The hydra of the world with bruis`ed head.
Vainly, since Fate’s immeasurable wheel
25Could parley with a straw. A weakling sped
The bullet when to custom’s usual night
We fell because a woman’s faith was light.