To Mother and Sri Aurobindo

I looked upon the outer sheath I wore

And saw as if in shadow vaguely dreaming

Inconscient parts that now could live no more

For in the night the sacred sun was beaming.

Though hard within a seething spectre waits

And works at weaving light-engulfing snares

I see beyond, His Feet, the future's gates,

Her golden form upon the golden stairs.

Child of day who would the dawn behold

Of night thy need is ended, light embrace,

Impassion, fill with truth this mortal mould

And greet the Mother in each form and face.