Thou art the sky and thou art the nest as well. Oh, 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.
_Rabindranath Tagore_