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Lady At A Mirror

 As in sleeping-drink spices
softly she loosens in the liquid-clear
mirror her fatigued demeanor;
and she puts her smile deep inside.
And she waits while the liquid rises from it; then she pours her hair into the mirror, and, lifting one wondrous shoulder from the evening gown, she drinks quietly from her image.
She drinks what a lover would drink feeling dazed, searching it, full of mistrust; and she only beckons to her maid when at the bottom of her mirror she finds candles, wardrobes, and the cloudy dregs of a late hour.

Poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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