"Whoever you are, go out into the evening,
leave your room, of which you know each bit;
your house is the last before the infinite,
whoever you are.
Then with your eyes raise a shadowy black tree
and fix it on the sky: slender, alone.
And you have made the world (and it shall grow
and ripen as a word, unspoken, still).
When you have grasped its meaning with your will,
then tenderly your eyes will let it go…" —
Rainer Maria Rilke, from