Now let it be time that gods step forth
from dwelt-in things ...
Time they knock down every wall
in my house. New page. Only the wind
stirred by such a page turning
could shovel air as a spade turns earth:
a new breathfield. Oh gods, gods!
You who came so often, sleepers inside things,
who cheerfully arise -- who, by wells
that we guess at, wash face and neck
and lightly add your repose
to that which seems full, our own life.
May it again be your morning, gods.
We repeat. You alone are source.
The world arises with you, and origin shines
on all the cracks in our failures ...
Rainer Maria Rilke, late untitled fragment
[mostly Edward Snow's translation from Uncollected Poems, with my own revisions to Snow's version]