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You, Beloved, who are all 
the gardens I have ever gazed at, 
longing. An open window 
in a country house– , and you almost 
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,– 
you had just walked down them and vanished. 
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors 
were still dizzy with your presence and, 
startled, gave back my too-sudden image.
Who knows? Perhaps the same 
bird echoed through both of us 
yesterday, separate, in the evening…  
Rainer Maria Rilke
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