His days were a long growth to the Supreme.

Savitri - Book 1, CANTO III: Section 1 earlyHis days were a long growth to the Supreme.A skyward being nourishing its rootsOn sustenance from occult spiritual fountsClimbed through white rays to meet an unseen Sun.His soul lived as eternity’s delegate,His mind was like a fire assailing heaven,His will a hunter in the trails of light.An ocean impulse lifted every breath;Each action left the footprints of a god,Each moment was a beat of puissant wings.The little plot of our mortalityTouched by this tenant from the heights becameA playground of the living Infinite.This bodily appearance is not all;The form deceives, the person is a mask;Hid deep in man celestial powers can dwell.His fragile ship conveys through the sea of years An incognito of the Imperishable.A spirit that is a flame of God abides,A fiery portion of the Wonderful,Artist of his own beauty and delight,Immortal in our mortal poverty.This sculptor of the forms of the Infinite,This screened unrecognised Inhabitant,Initiate of his own veiled mysteries,Hides in a small dumb seed his cosmic thought.In the mute strength of the occult IdeaDetermining predestined shape and act,Passenger from life to life, from scale to scale, Changing his imaged self from form to form,He regards the icon growing by his gazeAnd in the worm foresees the coming god.