This Seeker stirreth the wombéd ones, whose seed is the dapple-born— he whose birth-lining is naught but light— when the airy bounds are marked and meted.
Where water meeteth sun, the soul-fired singers touch him with thought as a mother lappeth her calf.

He lifteth a wave from the deep, the sea-born swell; the cloud-cloaked crown of bliss is glimpsed— a gleaming on the back of truth, the highest face of it.
And lo, the maidens cry as one, yearning toward the same great womb.

The many mothers of the calf, sprung from one nest, stand lowing forth, all turned unto the womb once more.

Upon the truth’s own back they stride, their tongues reaching for the deathless sweet.

The poets, filled with fire, beheld his shape and longed.
They heeded the bellow of the wild bull, and with truth in hand they mounted the stream.

The Gandharva uncovered names that cannot die.

The Apsaras, the shy maid of the sky, bore him aloft in the far-off height of heaven.
He, lovely and beloved, wandered among the wombs of the dear one, resting upon a wing of gold—for he is the Seeker.

And when they sought thee with their hearts, they saw thee soar— an eagle flying unto the vault above, gold-winged, a herald of Varuṇa, a sign-bird fluttering in the womb of Yama.

The Gandharva stood upon the firmament, turned outward, bearing bright weapons, gleaming and fair to the eye as the sun, a cloak of scent about him.
From himself he sired his own names, sweet and well-beloved.

When the drop falleth to the sea, with the sight of a vulture it beholdeth the far-flung blue.

The blaze of the sun, finding delight in that shining draught, shaped for itself its dearest names in the third realm.