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Now it was here in this great golden dawn. By her still sleeping husband lain she gazed Into her past as one about to die Looks back upon the sunlit fields of life Where he too ran and sported with the rest, Lifting his head above the huge dark stream Into whose depths he must for ever plunge. All she had been and done she lived again. The whole year in a swift and eddying race Of memories swept through her and fled away Into the irrecoverable past. Then silently she rose and, service done, Bowed down to the great goddess simply carved By Satyavan upon a forest stone. What prayer she breathed her soul and Durga knew. Perhaps she felt in the dim forest huge The infinite Mother watching over her child, Perhaps the shrouded Voice spoke some still word. At last she came to the pale mother queen. She spoke but with guarded lips and tranquil face Lest some stray word or some betraying look Should let pass into the mother's unknowing breast, Slaying all happiness and need to live, A dire foreknowledge of the grief to come. Only the needed utterance passage found: All else she pressed back into her anguished heart And forced upon her speech an outward peace. * The Book of Death was taken from Canto Three of an early version of Savitri which had only six cantos and an epilogue. It was slightly revised at a late stage and a number of new lines were added, but it was never fully worked into the final version of the poem. Its original designation, 'Canto Three', has been retained as a reminder of this. 
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