How it stands there before the darkenings
of the raining evening, young and pure;
amoung its thrashed-out tendrils, giving,
and yet sunk, immersed in its rose-existence;
the shallow blossoms, some already open,
each one unasked-for and untended:
so, endlessly outdone by itself
and indescribably self-excited.
it calls to the wanderer, who in evening
meditation, passes by the path:
Oh see me stand, here, look, how safe I am
and unprotected, having all I need.
Rilke, Between Roots