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Wie eine Frucht von süssigkeit und dunkel, so war sie voll von ihrem großen Tode, der also neu war,


Pound on the return of Ulysses to the dead:

The ocean flowing backward, came we then to the place Aforesaid by Circe. Here they did rites… […] Dark blood flowed in the fosse, Souls out of Erebus, cadaverous dead, of brides Of youth and of the old who had borne much; Soul stained with recent tears, girls tender, Men many, mauled with broze lance heads, Battle spoil, bearing yet dreory arms, These many crowded about me […] and then Tiresias Theban, Holding his golden wand, knew me and spoke first: “A second time? why? man of ill star, Facing the sunless dead and this joyless region? Stand from the fosse, leave me my bloody bever For soothsay,” And I stepped back, And he strong with the blood, said then: “Odysseus Shalt return through spiteful Neptune, over dark seas, Lose all companions.”

and then Rilke on Eurydice, called unwilling up from death:

Being dead Filled her beyond fulfillment. Like a fruit suffused with its own mystery and sweetness she was filled with her vast death, which was so new, she could not understand that it had happened. She had come into a new virginity and was untouchable; her sex had closed like a young flower at nightfall […] She was already loosened like long hair, poured out like fallen rain, shared like a limitless supply. She was already root.
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