"There are moments when..."   O sweet Compassion, Heart of love, What wondrous mercies flood our days; Blind, foolish souls are rapt in light, Deliverance lifts its joy and praise.   On heights where climbing pathways meet, The toil-worn sages prayed for Grace; But we, the dust beneath their feet, Have seen the glory of Your face. Page-85

Enchantment   A brief pure moment's ecstasy, Arrows of singing flame, Within the heart's white silence free The music of Thy name.   O wizard Love, Enchanter, Thou, Unweave the darkness, place Thy stars of peace upon my brow, Thy sun-truth on my face. Page-136

The Clue   This is how the magic works: Behind the screen of sense and thought A strange unearthly beauty lurks, Awaiting to be caught.   The hidden dream-lanes inward reach To shining waters, caverned deep, Beyond the pale release of speech, In unknown tracts of sleep.   No clues? No tappings, plumbings might Unseal those doors in Matter's wall; Those secret fortresses of light Only to self-giving fall. Page-99

Brindaban   Where the frail dawnlight trickled through The red-rose leaves and scent, By pathways where the moth-hour flew, My golden lover went.   In alleys sweet with moss and fern, Where the sunlight trembles through, In a dance of warm white whisperings Upon the iris dew;   And the twittering secrets meet and scatter The flutings of the day,  Between the tiny winks of silence, He softly went away.   When the moon-cleaned fruit is gathered home, Through watches of the night, He will come again with song and dance Within the winds of Light.   Page-28

The Dark Phase   Year after year you sealed up every door And locked us out in endless utter night; And night was on our souls, we could not fight The ancient shades, the subterranean lure. Deeper each day we sank into the core Of abysmal ill, where blows no breath of light, No wandering breeze of hope or promise bright Redeems the heart, no gleams of faith assure.   Only your love's gold warmth lay somewhere still Hid close within our dark; and so we knew The hand of your indomitable Will Upon us; knew at last, at last let go... And suddenly the midnight opened, through Those dead rocks springs of light began to flow. Pag

Beyond the Veilings   Far behind the senseless dustings Every day accumulates, Rags of thoughts and shreds of willings Tattered by our darkened fates,   Spinning, weaving, shuttling through Old cobwebs of our Karmic rooms, Arachne impudences hung Upon the golden spirit's looms;   — Far behind those dusty veilings, Untouched, unseen, a Presence dwells, A purity that heals all being, The secret Word within our spells. Page-124

Your Word   Your Word comes singing to my soul And passes over night's silent sea; I cannot keep it or control Or capture all it says to me.   But the deep caves resound with light, The terraces of being flame, And everywhere from depth to height Reverberates your beauteous Name.   The earth a-tremble to the core Bursts open its vast granite hold, Releasing through its broken floor Strange sacred fountains flowing gold. Page-107

Confessional   Today I went to the confessional Of my own heart; it can't forgive, it says, This injury, the sharp unquiet phase Of weak life I have brought; it cannot lull Remembrance, cannot offer magical Ablution for a sin which keeps ablaze Its consciousness of petty, perverse ways, Which goads the gnawing worm within the skull.   What have I done? Despite this mock regret, The innocence of the wild earth-desire Breaks through this last confession, conquering strife: The heart which still refuses to forget Still feels aright; no sacrificial fire Could purify the deed that builds its life. Page-41

Of Pomps   Lord God, we've had enough Of pomps and pageants old, And all the gilded stuff That's passed off as Your gold —   The flight of airy brains That spin out dreams on dreams, Where not a thought restrains Pink passion's gushing streams.   How long shall we endure This masquerading show? Big words, rich words that pour In senseless, rhymeless flow,   Without the least control Of inward powers of light, As though there were no soul Behind what men must write. Page-157

The Gopi   I go to fetch the water From the Yamuna rill; I know you will be there, Love, I have two pots to fill:   The one is for my mother-in-law, Of whom I stand in trembling awe; That is the pot upon my head, May it sink to the river-bed!   The other I in secret bring Most quietly to You, my King;  The pitcher of my heart to fill With the sweet waters of your Will. Page-29