The Panther

His gaze has grown so dim; he cannot hold it anymore. It is as if it were the world; through the gentle bars of the cage it presses, and he cannot let it go.

The world is not so large; he has been here
for a long time, but no one can say
how long.  What thoughts must pass through his head?
The world slips through his hands like a small wind.

He’s seen too many things, and though he waits,
still it closes up against him thickly,
he cannot see beyond the point of the end.

And when the evening talks, every time it seems
like someone quietly brushed his heart.

—Rainer Maria Rilke

• Rainer Maria Rilke