(translation of Der Panther by Rainer Maria Rilke)
No more can he take in, his hooded eyes
tire of looking out through iron bars;
he lives within a thousand other cages,
the outside world no longer leaves its scars.
He turns in the tightest narrow circle,
paces with a smooth, strong, supple gait,
like a dance of power around a centre
where lies benumbed some greater will in wait.
At times the outer world may enter him,
when soundlessly the curtain o’er his eye
lifts; some image floods the tension of his limbs
and ceases in his untamed heart to lie.
©Terry Hodgson2020
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