Page:Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke (1918).djvu/101

 The Book of a Monk's Life I love my life's dark hours

In which my senses quicken and grow deep,

While, as from faint incense of faded flowers

Or letters old, I magically steep

Myself in days gone by: again I give

Myself unto the past:—again I live.

Out of my dark hours wisdom dawns apace,

Infinite Life unrolls its boundless space

Then I am shaken as a sweeping storm

Shakes a ripe tree that grows above a grave

'Round whose cold clay the roots twine fast and warm—

And Youth's fair visions that glowed bright and brave,

Dreams that were closely cherished and for long,

Are lost once more in sadness and in song.

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