The Birth of Kumāra 4.p2

4.p2

"Speak to me Káma! why so silent? give
One word in answer—doth my Káma live? "
There on the turf his dumb cold ashes lay.
That fiery flash has scorched the soul away.
She clasped the dank earth in her wild despair.
Her bosom stained, and rent her long bright hair,
Till hill and valley caught the mourner's cry.
And pitying breezes echoed sigh for sigh.