wetzy78 The Panther In the Jardin des Plantes, Paris His gaze, going past those bars has grown so weary that he has nothing more. He feels as if there were a thousand bars and behind the bars, no world. The powerful paddings steps, turning there in tiniest of circles, like a ritual dance around a center in which a mighty will stands stunned. Only sometimes the curtain of the pupils lifts, quietly -. Then goes into a picture that goes through the tensed, arrested muscles - and listening to the heart to be. Rainer Maria Rilke, 06.11.1902, Paris.