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 !