They all have lips profoundly tired
and lucid souls without a seam,
and yearning (like a sin desired)
moves sometimes slowly through their dream.
They nigh resemble one another
and walk His gardens silently:
so many intervals that gather
in God’s majestic melody.
But only with their wings extending
do they call forth the heaven’s gales:
like sculptor God Himself were bending
the pages, and His hands were mending
the book of dark creation tales.
Rainer Maria Rilke