Savitri

The first fair life that breaks from Nature's swoon,

Mounts in a line of rapture to the skies;

Absorbed in its own happy urge it lives,

Sufficient to itself, yet turned to all.

It has no seen communion with its world,

No open converse with surrounding things.

There is a oneness native and occult

That needs no instruments and erects no form;

All contacts it assumes into its trance,

Laugh-tossed consents to the wind's kiss and takes

Transmutingly the shocks of sun and breeze:

A blissful yearning riots in its leaves,

A magic passion trembles in its blooms,

Its boughs aspire in hushed felicity.

(Book Four, Canto One)