That hath no name; 
The Fire that darts and flashes, writhes and creeps 
Snake-wise in royal robe 
Wound round that vanished glory of the globe, 
Unto that sky beyond the starry deeps, 
Beyond the Toils of Time, — then formulate 
In thine own mind, luminous, concentrate, 
The Lion of the Light, a child that stands 
On the vast shoulders of the Steed of God: 
Or winged, or shooting flying shafts, or shod 
With the flame-sandals. 
Then, lift up thine hands! 
Centre thee in thine heart one scarlet thought 
Limpid with brilliance of the Light above! 
Draw into naught 
Ail life, death, hatred, love: 
Ail self concentred in the sole desire — 
Hear thou the Voice of Fire!” 
~ 293 —