The priests and mourners now, each one in place,
Around the pyre, with sad and measured pace,
Unto the right, three times the way must tread;
To honor thus the memory of their dead.
And when the hero’s form was wrapped in fire,
Two mated doves, pure white, loosed near the pyre,
Up soared—of liberated soul the sign,
From prison freed, no fetter to confine;
Yet more, fair symbols of creative force,
Of life and death and all that is, the Source.