Gitanjali-67
THOU art the sky and thou art the nest
as well.
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 the earth.
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.