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Rainer Maria Rilke · Poems

Poem 49 of 51 · Book I

The Book of Hours: Poverty and Death (1)

— ✻ —

Her mouth is like the mouth of a fine bust
That cannot utter sound, nor breathe, nor kiss,
But that had once from Life received all this
Which shaped its subtle curves, and ever must
From fullness of past knowledge dwell alone,
A thing apart, a parable in stone.

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