Savitri – Eine Legende und ein Symbol. Sri Aurobindo

and moonlight its dream.

      On a wide living base of wordless calm

      All was a potent and a lucid joy.

      Into those heights her spirit went floating up

      Like an upsoaring bird who mounts unseen

      Voicing to the ascent his throbbing heart

      Of melody till a pause of closing wings

      Comes quivering in his last contented cry

      And he is silent with his soul discharged,

      Delivered of his heart’s burden of delight.

      Experience mounted on joy’s coloured breast

      To inaccessible spheres in spiral flight.

      There Time dwelt with eternity as one;

      Immense felicity joined rapt repose.

      As one drowned in a sea of splendour and bliss,

      Mute in the maze of these surprising worlds,

      Turning she saw their living knot and source,

      Key to their charm and fount of their delight,

      And knew him for the same who snares our lives

      Captured in his terrifying pitiless net,

      And makes the universe his prison camp

      And makes in his immense and vacant vasts

      The labour of the stars a circuit vain

      And death the end of every human road

      And grief and pain the wages of man’s toil.

      One whom her soul had faced as Death and Night

      A sum of all sweetness gathered into his limbs

      And blinded her heart to the beauty of the suns.

      Transfigured was the formidable shape.

      His darkness and his sad destroying might

      Abolishing for ever and disclosing

      The mystery of his high and violent deeds,

      A secret splendour rose revealed to sight

      Where once the vast embodied Void had stood.

      Night the dim mask had grown a wonderful face.

      The vague infinity was slain whose gloom

      Had outlined from the terrible unknown

      The obscure disastrous figure of a god,

      Fled was the error that arms the hands of grief,

      And lighted the ignorant gulf whose hollow deeps

      Had given to nothingness a dreadful voice.

      As when before the eye that wakes in sleep

      Is opened the sombre binding of a book,

      Illumined letterings are seen which kept

      A golden blaze of thought inscribed within,

      A marvellous form responded to her gaze

      Whose sweetness justified life’s blindest pain;

      All Nature’s struggle was its easy price,

      The universe and its agony seemed worth while.

      As if the choric calyx of a flower

      Aerial, visible on music’s waves,

      A lotus of light-petalled ecstasy

      Took shape out of the tremulous heart of things.

      There was no more the torment under the stars,

      The evil sheltered behind Nature’s mask;

      There was no more the dark pretence of hate,

      The cruel rictus on Love’s altered face.

      Hate was the grip of a dreadful amour’s strife;

      A ruthless love intent only to possess

      Has here replaced the sweet original god.

      Forgetting the Will-to-love that gave it birth,

      The passion to lock itself in and to unite,

      It would swallow all into one lonely self,

      Devouring the soul that it had made its own,

      By suffering and annihilation’s pain

      Punishing the unwillingness to be one,

      Angry with the refusals of the world,

      Passionate to take but knowing not how to give.

      Death’s sombre cowl was cast from Nature’s brow;

      There lightened on her the godhead’s lurking laugh.

      All grace and glory and all divinity

      Were here collected in a single form;

      All worshipped eyes looked through his from one face;

      He bore all godheads in his grandiose limbs.

      An oceanic spirit dwelt within;

      Intolerant and invincible in joy

      A flood of freedom and transcendent bliss

      Into immortal lines of beauty rose.

      In him the fourfold Being bore its crown

      That wears the mystery of a nameless Name,

      The universe writing its tremendous sense

      In the inexhaustible meaning of a word.

      In him the architect of the visible world,

      At once the art and artist of his works,

      Spirit and seer and thinker of things seen,

      Virat, who lights his camp-fires in the suns

      And the star-entangled ether is his hold,

      Expressed himself with Matter for his speech:

      Objects are his letters, forces are his words,

      Events are the crowded history of his life,

      And sea and land are the pages for his tale.

      Matter is his means and his spiritual sign;

      He hangs the thought upon a lash’s lift,

      In the current of the blood makes flow the soul.

      His is the dumb will of atom and of clod;

      A Will that without sense or motive acts,

      An Intelligence needing not to think or plan,

      The world creates itself invincibly;

      For its body is the body of the Lord

      And in its heart stands Virat, King of Kings.

      In him shadows his form the Golden Child

      Who in the Sun-capped Vast cradles his birth:

      Hiranyagarbha, author of thoughts and dreams,

      Who sees the invisible and hears the sounds

      That never visited a mortal ear,

      Discoverer of unthought realities

      Truer to Truth than all we have ever known,

      He is the leader on the inner roads;

      A seer, he has entered the forbidden realms;

      A magician with the omnipotent wand of thought,

      He builds the secret uncreated worlds.

      Armed with the golden speech,