Sonnet to Orpheus I.20

But Thou, Lord, what shall I bless here, say,

Thou who hast taught the ear of creation?

My recollection of a Spring day,

its evening, in Russia—a horse...

Across from the town came a white horse alone,

with a peg on its fetlock in front,

to be alone at night on the meadow;

how its curling mane hair struck

its neck to the beat of its wantonness,

in that hampered gallop rough.

How charger’s blood leapt up in fountains!

It felt the distances, and if!

it sang and it listened—your saga ring

was within it sealed.

I give that picture my blessing.

Rainer Maria Rilke