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Whoever you may be: at evening rise
And leave the hearth you know so thoroughly.
The last horizon’s end is where it lies:
Whoever you may be.

Now with your eyes, which you can scarcely free
From that familiar threshold of your own,
Raise up by slow degrees a blackened tree
Against the heaven, slender and alone.

And you have made the world. And it will grow
Like words in stillness—ripe, immense;
And as your will begins to grasp the sense,
Your eyes will sweetly let it go…

~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Images

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