Sandhya Part 10

Seventeen song-hours, A heart never weary; A soul with honey of all flowers A song as enchanting as stars.

A boy never grown old, A lute never tiring to sing, A mind ne'er chilled Though Hunger's hand lay cold.

Steely-cold on his breast, Yet the boy sang; Loved as alone a poet can Endlessly, without rest.

Just seventeen!

Ne'er old, though time pa.s.ses; A golden lyre-string Has not yet ceased ringing:

Rings through the heart of time O'er the summit of death To the music of the Nine Into the heart of Eternal Rhyme.

68

A summer song it was, Counting of many unseen stars In an intangible sky Making new milky ways-- Silver-shadow-paths that lead From sapphire abysses Into deeper abysses still.

The deeps of our souls Lit by pa.s.sion's burning flowers Tremulous, timorous flames of silver, That with thousand hands Our hearts sought to pluck and scatter, Or make barbed garlands For love's nuptial hour.

Nuptial hour, briefer than a moment, Longer than Heaven's Eternal summer, When each flower burns to soothe, And each soothing petal burns anew; Till myriad streams of fire Strewn with countless flaming stars Bear us to the far sea of Time Where no summer dies, Nor endure the stinging moments of love's winter.

69

"WHO KNOWS"

Time's torment, Life's woes, And sorrow's wan gaze Are but shades In a picture of light Where nothing abides, All things fade.

In fading there is beauty, By shedding tears We bathe our hearts-- Those crushed flowers full of smart-- For a deity not far from our souls.

Yet, no solace in prayer, Pain has no largess; Dark has stars, But no barren earth its flowers.

All are dismal and fallow; Yet, from the mountain's stony heart Spring mult.i.tudinous rivers Sparkling at dawn, and Deepening night's gloom with mysterious murmurs; And who knows?

These streams that pa.s.s By the balcony of our past, Through present's wilderness, Into desolate future May reach the land of the farthest star.

Who knows? Ah! who knows?

May these song-rills From my heart's little hill Empty their singing waters Into a sea of song-making Where nothing endures But the sound and echo of singing.

Where sound, and echo are one, A moonset vale of sunset land, Where light is wedded to shade Without death, full of dying, yet not dead.

70

THE FIRST VISION

The impenetrable dark-- Darkness of cloud and night Coming on black silent wings Surround me in their folds, As it sits by my side on the sh.o.r.e of time.

No fear, no sorrow, no hope, Not even the footfall of a star; Dim, deep sable tones Rise from the organ of nothing With its flats and sharps of clouds and night.

Ripples of moments Waves of hours and years Break on the sh.o.r.e of s.p.a.ce To speak vague, soundless words To my soul, alone, shade among shades.

Not even the unheard whisper Of the shadow of a breeze, But silence ponderous, peaceful, Afraid of its own self A mute hound at my feet.

Who art thou?

Whom do I know in this emptiness?

Who has lived with me?

And called me from the deeps of time?

Recedes the bank of s.p.a.ce; Fades away even the unfilled time, No light, no sound, not even a dream; Yet who speaks through silence?

Who plays this music of night?

Like an intangible river it flows With waves of shadow-sound Between banks of mountainous silence-- O, who! who are you?

Light in a world of shadows, Rainbow among sunless clouds, Bark of song on this sea of silence, O ferryman of the soul!

O Word on Infinite's scroll.

71

SHANTI[5]

Sleep shadows, sleep light; Sleep tune, sleep speech; Sleep night, sleep day; Sleep children in the cradle of rest.

Dream stars, dream moon; Dream sea; dream O, sun; Dream rainbow, dream storm; Dream rain, O, milk from Heaven's breast.

Rest ye feet, rest ye hands; Rest bleeding hours of even; Rest O, heart torn and burnt, Rest my fancies, day is done.

Sleep night, sleep with star-eyes closed; Sleep sorrow in death's silent repose; Sleep O, Soul, be it twilight or morn; Sleep thou too, O, sleep, heedless of moon and sun.

[Footnote 5: Shanti is the Sanskrit for "Peace."]