There is a godhead of unrealised things To which Time’s splendid gains are hoarded dross ; A cry seems near, a rustle of silver wings Calling to heavenly joy by earthly loss.
All eye has seen and all the ear has heard Is a pale illusion by some greater voice And mightier vision; no sweet sound or word, No passion of hues that make the heart rejoice
Can equal these diviner ecstasies. A Mind beyond our mind has sole the ken Of those yet unimagined harmonies, The fate and privilege of unborn men.
As rain-thrashed mire the marvel of the rose, Earth waits that distant marvel to disclose.
– Sri Aurobindo