Mystic Miracle, daughter of Delight,
Life, thou ecstasy,
Let the radius of thy flight
Be eternity.

On thy wings thou bearest high
 Glory and disdain,
Godhead and mortality,
Ecstasy and pain.

Take me in thy wild embrace
Without weak reserve
Body dire and unveiled face;
Faint not, Life, nor swerve.

All thy bliss I would explore,
All thy tyranny.
Cruel like the lion’s roar,
Sweet like springtide be.

Like a Titan I would take,
Like a God enjoy,
Like a man contend and make,
Revel like a boy.

More I will not ask of thee,
Nor my fate would choose;
King or conquered let me be,
Live or lose.

Even in rags I am a god;
Fallen, I am divine;
High I triumph when down-trod,
Long I live when slain.

Life by Aurobindo is really one of the marvels of poetic beauty and mystery and miracle and the delight connected with it. Let the radius of our flight be eternity. Mystery and miracle is the source of all, the cause of our delight. It is elemental to life. Life is but mystery, miracle and the wonder of delight. It is mystery through which we discern it all; it is miracle with which we see it all with utter awe and wonder. Had it been not, could we have? Had it been not, how would it have been the world in its absence? How to see the world bereft of it? How to view it life? Our life is a dream, dream you. Life is a thought, think you. Life is the name of some mysticism, feel you. Life is miracle; delve you into the realms of it.  Life is morality, moralize you. Life is full of ups and downs, sometimes rise you, sometimes fall, but to fall is not to leave or abandon the idea of going atop as mark you only those fall they who try to scale it high fall it they, but fall you not in such a way that you get doomed, you must have the guts of standing it again to be on the ascension.

O life, take you me in your wild embrace! Let me embrace you! Let you embrace me! Your mystery, I want to explore it. Your sweetness I want to taste it. Your sorrows I want to make it my own. Life is not if shorn of experiences. Life is not life if bereft of mystery and the mystery of life and the world ever new, ever fresh, cannot be cut into, can never be unfolded. There is s a shroud of mystery lain over. There is a sheet of mystery lain over. With the opening of the eyesight, see we the world and with the closing of the eyes, close we it.

Take me in your wild embrace, maddening it all, I want to feel it mystery, I want to feel it miracle, the miracle of living, the splendor of dwelling and deriving from.

Just a boy feels it, enjoy you this life so full of pleasures. Try to fathom the mysteries of life through meditation, transcending the barriers.

I am what I am, let me the joy of existence. Feel you the joy of living, the splendor of living. Try to feel it the mystery of the universe. Try to feel it the miracle of living.

Even in the rags, I am but god which know you not. If fall I, I am but divine. My tryst with sadhna takes me to the Divine. I scale higher and higher, trying to scale the heights of Himalayan wisdom. This is but sadhna. Try to balance you with yoga as sometimes one gets misled. The capacity of sadhna, how to tell it? It lives for long. Or to be endowed with is the main thing. After reaching the height, scaling the meditative height, one comes down. To reach the pedestal is to be empowered with to use for welfare.

As the origin and development of English drama so is the stages of the poem, Life by Aurobindo. Our journey is from mystery, miracle to morality plays and thereafter and so is the pleasure of life starting as the mystery child of Nature to the attainment of bliss and after and the experiences connected with this growing which is but Blakian, Hebertian.

The miracle of living, the mystery of living, how to narrate it about if life is itself a mystery, a miracle and just joy go you feeling it.

The poet will like to drink deep at the Alexander Popian springs of wit and satire not, but mysticism. He will like to explore the experiences of life, tasting good and bad, ups and downs.

Life is itself shrouded in mystery, the creation of something supernatural is it. The daughter of Delight it is in essence.

Whatever he is, let him be the king or the fallen on, what it is in his fate. Like a Titan, he would face it taking the things into his clutch, like a God he taking his stroll and stride, like a man going his way all alone, bearing the brunt, the spell of joy and sorrow.

This is life so full of mysteries and miracles, the daughter of Delight is it. Fallen or held high, he has to go on treading. The matter ends it not with being slain. Even there is a scope for the slain to rise like a phoenix.

Where it takes to we have to go to as what else can we do? The mystery of life, how to feel it, how to comprehend it, how to clutch it along to take into the stride of one’s own? Life is not life if not with joys and sorrows. Everything has but a time of own.