To The Western Bards Poem by Narayan Hore

O mistaken bards of the Western Isles!
To think that man lives fragmented is wrong,
The world is no heap of concrete and tiles,
To mislead and prove there exists no song
Has withheld the growth of Nature's health,
Her sickness is grave- her spirits broken,
But who shall restore her infinite wealth,
With which bard rests recovery's token?

I vision this soul is nested in East,
Who searches this waste land, prepares for war
Against enemies of beauty; and then feast
When eternal truth shall remove the scar
Which wounded the aesthetic soul but half,
And remove their already dwindling staff.