让我想起了里尔克的 I love the dark hours of my being. My mind deepens into them. There I can find, as in old letters, the days of my life, already lived, and held like a legend, and understood. Then the knowing comes: I can open to another life that’s wide and timeless. So I am sometimes like a tree rustling over a grave and making real the dream of the one its living roots embrace: a dream once lost among sorrows and songs.