And without any feet can go to you;
And tongueless, I can conjure you at will.
Break off my arms, I shall take hold of you
And grasp you with my heart as with a hand;
Arrest my heart, my brain will beat as true;
And if you set this brain of mine afire,
Then on my blood-stream I yet will carry you.
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Simply she stands at the cathedral’s
with the apple in the apple-pose,guiltless-guilty once and for allof the growing she gave birth tosince form the circle of eternitiesloving she went forth, top struggle throughher way throughout the earth like a young year.Ah, gladly yet a little in that landWould she have lingered, heeding the harmonyAnd understanding of the animals.But since she found…
Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the othersfall: again and again the two of us walk out togetherunder the ancient trees, lie down again and againamong the flowers, face to face with the sky.
Rose, you majesty-once, to the ancients, you were
But for us, you are the full, the numberless flower,the inexhaustible countenance.In your wealth you seem to be wearing gown upon gownupon a body of nothing but light;yet each seperate petal is at the same time the negationof all clothing and the refusal of it.Your fragrance has been calling its sweetest namesin our direction, for…
Losing too is still ours; and even forgetting
When something’s let go of, it circles; and though we arerarely the centerof the circle, it draws around us its unbroken, marvelouscurve.
Sometimes she walks through the village in her
all absorbed in restraining herself,and yet, despite herself, she seems to moveaccording to the rhythm of her life to come.She runs a bit, hesitates, stops,half-turns around…and, all while dreaming, shakes her headfor or against.Then she dances a few stepsthat she invents and forgets,no doubt finding out that lifemoves on too fast.It’s not so much that…
(From the diaries of Malte Laurids Brigge)
I lie weeping,whose very being makes me feel wantinglike a cradle.You, who do not tell me, that you lie awakethinking of me:–what, if we carried all these longings within uswithout ever being overwhelmed by them,letting them pass?Look at these lovers, tormented by love,when first they begin confessing,how soon they lie!You make me feel alone. I…