of the gentle world you had made for him dissolving beneath
his drowsy eyelids, into the foretaste of sleep —:
he seemed protected … But inside: who could ward off,
who could divert, the floods of origin inside him?
Ah, there was no trace of caution in that sleeper; sleeping,
yes but dreaming, but flushed with what fevers: how he threw himself in.
All at once new, trembling, how he was caught up
and entangled in the spreading tendrils of inner event
already twined into patterns, into strangling undergrowth, prowling
bestial shapes. How he submitted —. Loved.
Loved his interior world, his interior wilderness,
that primal forest inside him, where among decayed treetrunks
his heart stood, light-green. Loved.”—Excerpt from Rainer Maria Rilke’s “The Third Elegy,” translated by Stephen Mitchell