It was a mighty torrent with a breaking, maddening, terrible speed.

Like that of the flaming forces that leap through the wilds of the mind.

I saw it was Time.

And we were a dozen or so that watched its course form the bank

When a powerful desire did seize us

And we leaped in the midst of the tumult, the force and the rage of the torrent.

Then Hands came down to lead us; and we swam divinely on

Against the mad career of this Doom in a torrent’s form

Onward, onward, onward, higher and then still higher

Precipice growing on precipice, further, dizzier ever.

My comrades and I did swim on and great was the joy of this swimming.

This ride on the waters of Time, this touch of the forces of law;

This sovrain race on the tides that aeons are called amongst men.

At last I was tired of this play and I called to my comrades, saying:

“Stay! Let us land on the bank with groves and hills and fields.

Have some taste of summer dreams and then plunge back in this torrent.”

Some came, but the others sped on with a full disdain for repose.

That bank is the realm called “Life” and that race is the race of the spirits.

New India
07.06.1915