The night secretly brings through the folds of the curtain 

From your hair forgotten sunshine. 

Look, I want nothing but to hold your hands 

And be still and good and full of peace. 

There my soul grows until it bursts into shards 

The everyday life blasts. It grows so wide: 

On its morning-red piers 

The first waves of infinity die.

– Rainer Maria Rilke, The night secretly brings through the folds of the curtain, 1889.