Thou art the sky and thou art the nest
O thou beautiful, there in the nest it
is thy love that encloses the soul with
colours and sounds and odours.
There comes the morning with the
golden basket in her right hand bearing
the wreath of beauty, silently to crown
And there comes the evening over
the lonely meadows deserted by herds,
through trackless paths, carrying cool
draughts of peace in her golden pitcher
from the western ocean of rest.
But there, where spreads the infinite
sky for the soul to take her flight in,
reigns the stainless white radiance.
there is no day nor night, nor form nor
colour, and never, never a word.
From Gitanjali (Macmillan and Company, 1916) by Rabindranath Tagore. This poem is in the public domain.