We cannot know his legendary head
With eyes like ripening fruit, And yet,
His vision is still suffused with fire
From inside, like a lamp, which turned to low,
Still gleams in all it's power.
Otherwise, the curved hips could not dazzle
You so, nor could a smile run through the placid
Hips and thighs to that dark center where
Otherwise, this stone would seem defaced
By the translucent cascade of the shoulders
And would not glisten like a wild's beast's fur,
Would not, from all the borders of itself,
Burst like a star.
For here, there is no place that can not see you.
You must change your life.
-- "The Archaic Torso of Apollo" by Rilke, translated by Stephen Mitchell, (mis)remembered by me. One of the things I carry in my head like an internal prayer bead to remind me of what's important. I've blogged it just because I felt like typing the words.