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A. Page Writes

The portfolio and blog of Abigail Page.

Ah yes! I long for you. To you I glideAnd lose myself — for to you I belong.The hope that hitherto I have deniedImperious comes to me as from your sideSerious, unfaltering and swift and strong.Those times: the times when I was quite aloneBy memories wrapt that whispered to me low,My silence was the quiet of a stoneOver which rippling murmuring waters flow.But in these weeks of the awakening SpringSomething within me has been freed — somethingThat in the past dark years unconscious lay,Which rises now within me and commandsAnd gives my poor warm life into your handsWho know not what I was that Yesterday. 
"The Woman Who Loves" by Ranier Maria Rilke, from The Book of Pictures.

Ah yes! I long for you. To you I glide
And lose myself — for to you I belong.
The hope that hitherto I have denied
Imperious comes to me as from your side
Serious, unfaltering and swift and strong.

Those times: the times when I was quite alone
By memories wrapt that whispered to me low,
My silence was the quiet of a stone
Over which rippling murmuring waters flow.

But in these weeks of the awakening Spring
Something within me has been freed — something
That in the past dark years unconscious lay,
Which rises now within me and commands
And gives my poor warm life into your hands
Who know not what I was that Yesterday.

"The Woman Who Loves" by Ranier Maria Rilke, from The Book of Pictures.

2 years ago

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