The World’s Tragedy

88 THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. Intolerabe stench ! Spasm on spasm of agony still goads My soul to get to God. GOVINDA The third should be the final period. What portent may we look for ? ALEXANDER By this dial We must wait yet a little, majesties ! CHAU I tell you of the Oracle. I took (So that it might be an exhaustive trial) A snow-white bird with purple tail-feathers Wherein pale flames of gold mingled and shook. Here, too, my wisest ministers Gathered to solve the riddle of the Star. But so the balky brute Crushed in this gnarled fist Maintained the unequal war That at the dagger-sweep Strongly she leapt — I missed !