The Birth of Kumāra 4.p6

4.p6

Stricken in spirit by her cries of woe,
Like venomed arrows from a mighty bow,
A moment fled, and gentle Spring was there,
To ask her grief, to soothe her wild despair;
She beat her breast more wildly than before,
With greater floods her weeping eyes ran o'er—
When friends are nigh the spirit finds relief
In the full gushing torrent of its grief.