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Collected Poems - Sri Aurobindo Ashram

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Ilion – Book VIII 443<br />

Helped by the anxious joy of their kindred supported their anguish<br />

Women with travail racked for the child who shall rack them with sorrow.<br />

Hopes that were confident, fates that sprang dire from the seed of a moment,<br />

Yearning that claimed all time for its date and all life for its fuel,<br />

All that we wonder at gazing back when the passion has fallen,<br />

Labour blind and vain expense and sacrifice wasted,<br />

These he beheld with a heart unshaken; to each side he studied<br />

Seas of confused attempt and the strife and the din and the crying.<br />

All things he pierced in us gazing down with his eyelids immortal,<br />

Lids on which sleep dare not settle, the Father of men on his creatures;<br />

Nor by the cloud and the mist was obscured which baffles our eyeballs,<br />

But he distinguished our source and saw to the end of our labour.<br />

He in the animal racked knew the god that is slowly delivered;<br />

Therefore his heart rejoiced. Not alone the mind in its trouble<br />

God beholds, but the spirit behind that has joy of the torture.<br />

Might not our human gaze on the smoke of a furnace, the burning<br />

Red, intolerable, anguish of ore that is fused in the hell-heat,<br />

Shrink and yearn for coolness and peace and condemn all the labour?<br />

Rather look to the purity coming, the steel in its beauty,<br />

Rather rejoice with the master who stands in his gladness accepting<br />

Heat of the glorious god and the fruitful pain of the iron.<br />

Last the eternal gaze was fixed on Troy and the armies<br />

Marching swift to the shock. It beheld the might of Achilles<br />

Helmed and armed, knew all the craft in the brain of Odysseus,<br />

Saw Deiphobus stern in his car and the fates of Aeneas,<br />

Greece of her heroes empty, Troy enringed by her slayers,<br />

Paris a setting star and the beauty of Penthesilea.<br />

These things he saw delighted; the heart that contains all our ages<br />

Blessed our toil and grew full of its fruits, as the Artist eternal<br />

Watched his vehement drama staged twixt the sea and the mountains,<br />

Phrased in the clamour and glitter of arms and closed by the firebrand,<br />

Act itself out in blood and in passions fierce on the Troad.<br />

Yet as a father his children, who sits in the peace of his study<br />

Hearing the noise of his brood and pleased with their play and their quarrels,<br />

So he beheld our mortal race. Then, turned from the armies,<br />

Into his mind he gazed where Time is reflected and, conscient,<br />

Knew the iron knot of our human fates in their warfare.

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