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So was she left alone in the huge wood, Surrounded by a dim unthinking world, Her husband's corpse on her forsaken breast. In her vast silent spirit motionless She measured not her loss with helpless thoughts, Nor rent with tears the marble seals of pain: She rose not yet to face the dreadful god. Over the body she loved her soul leaned out In a great stillness without stir or voice, As if her mind had died with Satyavan. But still the human heart in her beat on. Aware still of his being near to hers, Closely she clasped to her the mute lifeless form As though to guard the oneness they had been And keep the spirit still within its frame. Then suddenly there came on her the change Which in tremendous moments of our lives Can overtake sometimes the human soul And hold it up towards its luminous source. The veil is torn, the thinker is no more: Only the spirit sees and all is known. Then a calm Power seated above our brows Is seen, unshaken by our thoughts and deeds, Its stillness bears the voices of the world: Immobile, it moves Nature, looks on life. It shapes immutably its far-seen ends; Untouched and tranquil amid error and tears And measureless above our striving wills, Its gaze controls the turbulent whirl of things. To mate with the Glory it sees, the spirit grows: The voice of life is tuned to infinite sounds, 
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