Even in this moment of her soul’s despair, In its grim rendezvous with death and fear, No cry broke from her lips, no call for aid; She told the secret of her woe to none: Calm was her face and courage kept her mute. Yet only her outward self suffered and strove; Even her humanity was half divine: Her spirit opened to the Spirit in all, Her nature felt all Nature as its own. Apart, living within, all lives she bore; Aloof, she carried in herself the world: Her dread was one with the great cosmic dread, Her strength was founded on the cosmic mights; The universal Mother’s love was hers.
Her own thought of what life could be like, was all she would ever have of the world she had wanted. Only the thought of it - and a few rare moments, like a few lights reflected from it on her way - to know, to hold, to follow to the end...