Strange to be no more of Earth. To quit half learned habits. To view roses and their kind no more in human terms. To be no more a babe in arms that ever fear to drop you. To leave the name you are known by like a child leaves a broken toy. Strange to desire nothing. Strange to watch the known world dissolve. Death is very difficult. Lost time is painfully reconstructed until the struggle yields some slight glimmer of eternity. The living are mistaken in their distinctions- angels often do not know whether they walk among the quick or the dead. So 'tis said. The storm of eternity roars; all voices drown in its thunder.
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Strange to be no more of Earth.
To quit half learned habits.
To view roses and their kind
no more in human terms.
To be no more a babe in arms
that ever fear to drop you.
To leave the name you are
known by like a child leaves
a broken toy.
Strange to desire nothing.
Strange to watch the
known world dissolve.
Death is very difficult.
Lost time is painfully
reconstructed until the
struggle yields some
slight glimmer of eternity.
The living are mistaken
in their distinctions-
angels often do not know
whether they walk among
the quick or the dead.
So 'tis said.
The storm of eternity roars;
all voices drown in its thunder.
Rilke
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