But for the passionless prayers of our too worldly tutors
Perhaps, no Saint, to the world, would wholly die
Nor, save for the songs of her rejected suitors
Would her babe hear aught in lullaby
Envoi-
Prince! Tis bearable that Love is Truth for, by Beauty's arbitrary Ruth, its brand burns through all flesh
Save for Jarati's Khandava perch, or the Jiva's Kurukshetra Church- all Caritas its own Creche.
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