[ Untitled ]
The child startles at the mirror
and passes on;
no one could have known
what her image has given her.
But near evening the memory
insists she return for proof,
and a lingering curiosity
stops her before herself.
One doesn't know if this is fear.
But she pauses now, her gaze
searches her own face,
and she breathes -- somehow -- elsewhere.
The child startles at the mirror
and passes on;
no one could have known
what her image has given her.
But near evening the memory
insists she return for proof,
and a lingering curiosity
stops her before herself.
One doesn't know if this is fear.
But she pauses now, her gaze
searches her own face,
and she breathes -- somehow -- elsewhere.
R. M. Rilke
(my translation)
