The passing bars have made his gaze
so tired, it cannot behold.
To him, it's thousand bars that form a maze,
and behind a thousand bars, there seems no world.

The gentle pace of strides so strong yet nimble,
which in the tightest circle turns around,
is like the dance of strength around a middle,
wherein a great will stands, numb and bound.

Just sometimes, when the curtain of his eyelens
lifts qietly upwards, the image he can see
goes through his members' tension filled silence
and in his heart ceases to be.

This is my translation of the poem Der Panther by Rainer Maria Rilke.
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