And you wait, you wait for that one thing
that will infinitely enlarge
your life;
the gigantic, the stupendous,
the awakening of
stones,
depths turned round toward you.
The volumes bound in rust and gold
flicker dimly on the shelves;
and
you think of lands traveled across,
of paintings, of the clothes of
women
found and lost.
And then suddenly you know: it was then.
You rise, and before
you
stands the fear and prayer and shape
of a vanished year.
—Rainer Maria Rilke, “Memory” translated by Edward Snow
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