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 steep
Myself in days gone by: again I give
Myself unto the past:--again I live.
In which my senses quicken and grow deep,
While, as from faint incense of faded flowers
Or letters old, I steep
Myself in days gone by: again I give
Myself unto the past:--again I live.
Rilke - Poems
