里尔克――《盲女》

I no longer have to dowithout now,

all coulors are translated

into sounds and smells.

And they ring infinifely sweef

like tones.

why should I need a book?

The wind leaves through the trees,

and I know what passes there for words

and sometimes repeat them softly.

And death who plucks eyes like flowers,

doesn`t find my eyes.