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.
All my cells thrill swept by a surge of splendour, Soul and body stir with a mighty rapture, Light and still more light like an ocean billows Over me, round me.
Rigid, stonelike, fixed like a hill or statue, Vast my body feels and upbears the world's weight; Dire the large descent of the Godhead enters Limbs that are mortal.
Voiceless, thronged, Infinity crowds upon me; Presses down a glory of power eternal; Mind and heart grow one with the cosmic wideness; Stilled are earth's murmurs.
Swiftly, swiftly crossing the golden spaces Knowledge leaps, a torrent of rapid lightnings; Thoughts that left the Ineffable's flaming mansions, Blaze in my spirit.
Slow the heart-beats' rhythm like a giant hammer's; Missioned voices drive to me from God's doorway Words that live not save upon Nature's summits, Ecstasy's chariots.
All the world is changed to a single oneness; Souls undying, infinite forces, meeting, Join in God-dance weaving a seamless Nature, Rhythm of the Deathless.
Mind and heart and body, one harp of being, Cry that anthem, finding the notes eternal,— Light and might and bliss and immortal wisdom Clasping for ever.
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