From The Book of Hours - Rainer Maria Rilke
Now the hour bends down and touches me
with its clear, metallic ring:
my senses tremble. The feeling forms: I can--
and I grasp the malleable day.
Nothing was complete before I saw it,
all becoming stood still.
My eyes are ripe, and whatever they desire
approaches like a bride.
Nothing is too small: against a gold background
I paint it large and lovingly
and hold it high, and I will never know
whose soul it may release...
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