Hindi

In a sun-blaze of joy and absolute power Above the Masters of the Ideal throne In sessions of secure felicity, In regions of illumined certitude.

One day the Face must burn out through the mask. Our ignorance is Wisdom's chrysalis, Our error weds new knowledge on its way, Its darkness is a blackened knot of light;

The little Mind is tied to little things: Its sense is but the spirit's outward touch, Half-waked in a world of dark Inconscience; It feels out for its beings and its forms Like one left fumbling in the ignorant Night.

One chance remained that here might be a power To liberate man from the old inadequate means And leave him sovereign of the earthly scene.

Once more the world was made a wonder-web, A magic's process in a magical space, An unintelligible miracle's depths Whose source is lost in the Ineffable.

Out of Nature's body of phenomenon She carves with Thought's keen edge in rigid lines, Like rails for the World-Magician's power to run, Her sciences precise and absolute.

She spins in stiff but unsubstantial lines Her gossamer word-webs of abstract thought, Her segment systems of the Infinite, Her theodicies and cosmogonic charts And myths by which she explains the inexplicable.

 A fiery spirit came, next of the three. A hunchback rider of the red Wild-Ass, A rash Intelligence leaped down lion-maned From the great mystic Flame that rings the worlds And with its dire edge eats at being's heart.

A dwarf three-bodied trinity was her serf. First, smallest of the three, but strong of limb, A low-brow with a square and heavy jowl, A pigmy Thought needing to live in bounds For ever stooped to hammer fact and form.