For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and the silences of night.

-- Khalil Gibran
(from The Prophet)

Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty may touch me, or a flute that his breath may pass through me?

-- Khalil Gibran
(from The Prophet)

A craftsman pulled a reed from the reedbed,
cut holes in it, and called it a human being.

Since then, it has been wailing
a tender agony of parting,
never mentioning the skill
that gave it life as a flute.

-- Rumi
(from A Year With Rumi,
translated by Coleman Barks)

Birdsong brings relief to my longing.
I am just as ecstatic as they are,
but with nothing to say.

Please, universal soul, practice some song,
or something, through me.

-- Rumi
(in Rumi:  The Big Red Book,
translated by Coleman Barks)