they can barely even contain themselves

"Interior of a Rose"

 

Where does there exist an outside 

for this inside? For what wound’s sake 

is such a linen bandage tied? 

What heaven’s reflection is spied 

on the mirrored surface of the lake 

of these open roses, perfected 

in these blissful blooms; and see 

how they lie loosely collected, 

as if a trembling hand could hardly 

spill them or overturn them. 

They can barely even contain 

themselves; among them many 

let themselves overflow any 

interior space, and they rain 

into days, closing continually, 

fuller and fuller they gleam, 

until all of summer seems to be 

a room, a room in a dream. 

 

[Rainer Maria Rilke {1875-1926} 'Interior of a Rose', from Rilke: New Poems {Joseph Cadora, trans.}]