



I would like to be like those who ride through the night on wild horses, with torches that blow in the great winds of their hunt like hair that has risen. I would like to stand in front like in a barge, tall and furled like a flag. Dark, but with a helmet of gold that shines restlessly. And lined up behind me are ten men from the same darkness with helmets that, like mine, are unsteady,
sometimes clear as glass, sometimes dark, old and blind.
And one stands with me and blows us space with the trumpet, which flashes and screams, and blows us a black loneliness, through which we race like a swift dream: the houses fall to their knees behind us,
the alleys bend crookedly towards us,
the squares give way: we seize them, and our horses rush like rain.
- Rainer Maria Rilke