Where is for this inside an outside? On what woe lays one such linen? What sky is reflected inside the landlocked lake of these open roses, these careless roses, look:
how loose they in looseness lie, as could no trembling hand upset them ever.
They can barely keep themselves together; many let themselves go, let their innerspaces overflow and flow over into the days, which fuller and fuller glut themselves shut,
until every part of summer a room becomes, a room in a dream.
Rainer Maria Rilke, Das Rosen-Innern (1908)
