Rainer Maria Rilke - The Panther

His gaze, going past those bars, has got so misted
with tiredness, it can take in nothing more.
He feels as though a thousand bars existed,
and no more world beyond them than before.

Those supply powerful paddings, turning there
in tiniest of circles, well might be
the dance of forces round a centre where
some mighty will stands paralyticly.

Just now and then the pupils’ noiseless shutter
is lifted. - Then an image will indart,
down through the limbs’ intensive stillness flutter,
and end its being in the heart.