One of my favorite poets is Rainer Maria Rilke. A few years back I put it together that Rilke and Becker were close friends. Her death is a beautiful part of her story. She had chosen to wait to have a child so that she could pursue her career as a painter. Shortly after giving birth to her daughter she died from a blood clot to her heart. Her last words were, "What a shame." She had foreseen her own death (a bit of Cassandra in her).
I read this passage from Requiem For a Friend, written to her after her death by Rilke.
I will have the gardeners come to me and recite many flowers, and in their small melodious names I will bring back some remnant of the hundred fragrances. And fruits: I will buy fruits, and in their sweetness that country’s earth and sky will live, again. For that is what you understood: ripe fruits. You set them before the canvas, in white bowls, and weighed out each one’s heaviness with your colors. Women too, you saw, were fruits; and children, molded from inside, into the shapes of their existence. And at last you saw yourself as a fruit, you stepped out of your clothes and brought your naked body before the mirror, you let yourself inside down to your gaze; which stayed in front, immense, and didn’t say: I am that; no: this is. So free of curiosity your gaze had become, so unpossessive, of such true poverty, it had no desire even for your yourself; it wanted nothing: holy.