The bird, anointed with the might of the Lord, is beheld by those whose hearts are tuned to song.
They see it not with eye alone, but with inward sight and mind made still.
The seers mark it moving o’er the deep, and those who tend the rites go seeking where the light hath left its trace.

The bird beareth speech upon the wings of thought.
The Gandharva spoke it in the womb unseen.
The sage-spirits guard that flashing, echoing spark— the inspired breath that dwelleth in the track of truth.

I beheld the cowherd, who maketh no home, wandering to and fro upon the hidden ways.

Clad in robes that meet and part again—
the rays, mayhap—he rolleth onward through the quickened worlds.