Where for this Inside is there
an Outside? Upon what wound
does one lay such a dressing?
What heavens are reflected there
in the inland lake of these open roses,
these heedless ones, look:
How loose they lie, tempting fate,
as if no trembling hand
could ever spill them.
They can scarcely contain
themselves; many let themselves
be filled to the brim and over
flow with inner peace
into days that always
fuller and fuller close,
until the whole summer becomes
a room, a room in a dream.

--Rainer Maria Rilke [Rika Lesser]