Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Hours I
Often when I imagine you
your wholeness cascades into many shapes.
You run like a herd of luminous deer
and I am dark, I am forest.
Requiescat, Oscar Wilde, 1881
Wilde wrote this poem for his sister Isola, who died of meningitis aged 9.
Tread Lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
Anyone can love a rose, but it takes a great deal to love a leaf. It’s ordinary to love the beautiful, but it’s beautiful to love the ordinary.