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Written by Rilke (translated by C. F. MacIntyre):
Whoever you are, go out into the evening,
leaving your room, of which you know each bit;
your house is the last before the infinite,
whoever you are.
Then with your eyes that wearily
scarce lift themselves from the worn-out door-stone
slowly you raise a shadowy black tree
and fix it on the sky: slender, alone.
And you have made the world (and it shall grow
and ripen as a word, unspoken, still).
When you have grasped its meaning with your will,
then tenderly your eyes will let it go.
“If we surrendered to earth’s intelligence we could rise up rooted, like trees. ”
— Rainer Maria Rilke (Rainer Maria Rilke’s Book of Hours: A Complete New Translation with Commentary)
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