to be the vision of India from which we are to get a fresher sense of nature and life and that correspondence of earth and heaven whose perception inspires the poet's ecstasy:
Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last song. The joy that makes the earth flow over in the riotous excess of the grass, the joy that sets the twin-brothers, life and death, dancing over the wide world, the joy that sweeps in with the tempest, shaking and waking all life with laughter, the joy that sits still with its tears on the open red lotus of pain, and the joy that throws everything it has upon the dust, and knows not a word.
This is the lyric counterpart of the pages in Sādhanā that expound the gospel of the flower, the messenger whose form and fragrance declare that "from the everlasting joy all things have their birth." And in the innocence of beauty, which is transparent to the light of the sun, it helps to dissipate the shadow of Māyā, and to repair the cleavage of illusion.
We are like Sita in Ravana's Golden City, in exile, amid all its worldly pomp and sensation; and then a song, a flower, or a beam of light, comes with a message from the other world, and says the words: "I am come. He has sent me. I am a messenger of the beautiful; the one whose soul is the bliss of love.… He will
