from Sanskrit and Other Languages
II. From Bengali
At the day-end behold the Golden Daughter of Imagination –
She sits alone under the Tree of Life.
A form of the Truth of Being has risen before her rocking there like a lake
And on it is her unwinking gaze. But from the unfathomed Abyss where it was buried, upsurges
A tale of lamentation, a torrent-lightning passion,
A melancholy held in the flowing blood of the veins,–
A curse thrown from a throat of light.
The rivers of a wind that has lost its perfumes are bearing away
On their waves the Mantra-rays that were her ornaments
Into the blue self-born sea of the silent Dawn;
The ceaseless vibration-scroll of a hidden Sun
Creates within her, where all is a magic incantation,
A picture of the transcendent Mystery1 – that luminous laughter
Is like the voice of a gold-fretted flute from the inmost heart of the Creator.
1 A mystery-picture of the Transcendent