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Friday, September 16, 2005

Poem by Rainier Maria Rilke

My life is not this steeply sloping hour
In which you see me hurrying
Much stands behind me, I stand before it like a tree
I am only one of my many mouths
And at that the one that will be still the soonest.
I am the rest between two notes
Which are somehow always in discord
Because death's note wants to climb over
But in the dark interval, reconciled
They stay there trembling
And the song goes on beautiful.

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