Kabir

On this tree is a bird: it dances in the joy of life.

None knows where it is: and who knows what the burden of its music may be?

Where the branches throw a deep shade, there does it have its nest: 

and it comes in the evening and flies away in the morning,

and says not a word of that which it means.

None tell me of this bird that sings within me.

It is neither coloured not colourless: it has neither form nor outline:

It sits in the shadow of love.

It dwells within the Unattainable, the Infinite, and the Eternal; and no one marks when it comes and goes.

Kabir says: "O broher Sadhu! deep is the mystery. Let the wise men seek to know where rests that bird."

 Kabir, 15th century, translation by Tagore