I do not attach much importance to the publication or non publication of my poetry and never have done. Most of it (the published part) appeared five, ten, fifteen or even thirty or more years after they were written. The few recently published in magazines (not all of them new, e.g. the sonnets) owed their fate to Nolini's eagerness and not to my initiative. But the vast bulk of what I have written (long poems mostly) lies on shelf and in drawer, most of it for more than a decade, awaiting either dissolution or an interminable revision or total recasting which at the present rate may well retain them there a decade or two more. But that is my own idiosyncrasy—it cannot be a rule or example for others.
Immortal, moveless, calm, alone, august, A silence throned, to just and to unjust One Lord of still unutterable love, I saw Him, Shiva, like a brooding dove Close-winged upon her nest. The outcasts came, The sinners gathered to that quiet flame, The demons by the other sterner gods Rejected from their luminous abodes Gathered around the Refuge of the lost Soft-smiling on that wild and grisly host. All who were refugeless, wretched, unloved, The wicked and the good together moved Naturally to Him, the shelterer sweet, And found their heaven at their Master's feet. The vision changed and in its place there stood A Terror red as lightning or as blood. His strong right hand a javelin advanced And as He shook it, earthquake stumbling danced Across the hemisphere, ruin and plague Rained out of heaven, disasters swift and vague Neighboured, a marching multitude of ills. His foot strode forward to oppress the hills, And at the vision of His burning eyes The hearts of men grew faint with dread surmise Of sin and punishment. Their cry was loud, "O master of the stormwind and the cloud, Spare, Rudra, spare! Show us that other form Auspicious, not incarnate wrath and storm." The God of Force, the God of Love are one; Not least He loves whom most He smites. Alone Who towers above fear and plays with grief, Defeat and death, inherits full relief From blindness and beholds the single Form, Love masking Terror, Peace supporting Storm.
The Friend of Man helps him with life and death Until he knows. Then, freed from mortal breath, Grief, pain, resentment, terror pass away. He feels the joy of the immortal play; He has the silence and the unflinching force, He knows the oneness and the eternal course. He too is Rudra and thunder and the Fire, He Shiva and the white Light no shadows tire, The Strength that rides abroad on Time's wide wings, The Calm in the heart of all immortal things.
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