Lost Love is one of the poems taken from B. M. Malabari’s The Indian Muse in English Garb published by Reporters’ Press, Bombay in 1876. Though the poet has attempted to contribute but is not so successful in his contribution. Malabari (1853-1912) somehow stitches his language. There is no flow in it. There is something of cringing in his verse as he tries to woo but can manage the press and comments in his favor. It is true what he has spoken of the subjugation and liberation of Delhi. A Parsi social reformer, an educator, he was a Gujarati writing in English and Gujarati. He basks in the sunshine of English education.

In his Preface to it, he writes:

“Many of the British poets, Shakespeare, Byron, Shelley, Burns, Wordsworth, Keats and Campbell in particular, have long become his household gods. He worships them with a strong, passionate heart-homage, and derives the chief happiness of life from them. Such a taste could not long remain without its effects.” - (B.M. Malabari, The Indian Muse in English Garb, Reporters’ Press, Bombay, 1876, p.2)

Malabari coaxes his love-stricken soul to fly, fly away and to move heavenwards. His love has got a setback as it was ordained by fate, as it was the Will of God. She has come, loved and lost.

The ladylove whom he adored could not be along. She gave the accompaniment and went away. Now just sorrow and anguish, sweet remembrance and memoir keep him twitching.

Her parting smile he still keeps enclosed with just as a memoir or a memento to get memorized or to be kept with.

It was not the fault of her, but the dictate of destiny ruled otherwise. The poet complains for having been made to wait.

Fly, fly my stricken soul !
My spirit Heav’nward roll ;
My Love my fate doth toll ;
I've lov’d and lost !

She whom my soul ador‘d ;
First did me hope accord ;
Then left me for the Lord,
In anguish tost !

My love! thy parting smile
Will never reconcile
My life to such exile ;
At such a cost !

I grudge thee not thy state ;
But why did’st make me wait!
If of my cruel fate,
Thou certain wast !

Lost Love as a poem is just of some historical value rather than being substantial, somber and grand. We read it for stitching the history of Indian English in verse.