EULOGIES XVIII
They had buried me. I heard them say I was dead. But as the shiver of resurrection went through the earth and the floods of the eternity reached me with their starless blue days I woke up in the light of your eyes and called, called your name soundlessly. You kissed me, and I became like your lips: somewhat pale, turning a bloody dark in kiss and merrily curved, became a high rose, your mouth in the wind, to which this rose, shining from its purple depths, bent down, weighted down, to open for a kiss.
—René Schickele, (c. 1910-20)















