The unbroken message that creates itself from the silence. Raised them from the earth: they, though, knelt on Saints have heard: so that the mighty call Something more than itself? For staying is nowhere. We freed ourselves from the beloved, and, trembling, enduredĪs the arrow endures the bow, so as to be, in its flight, Should not these ancient sufferings be finallyįruitful for us? Isn’t it time that, loving, Intenser example of love: ‘Could I only become like her?’ Whose lover has gone, might feel from that Gaspara Stampa sufficiently yet, that any girl, Into herself, as if there were not the power Was only a pretext for being, his latest rebirth.īut lovers are taken back by exhausted Nature Think: the hero prolongs himself, even his falling Begin,Īlways as new, the unattainable praising: Those, you almost envied them, the forsaken, that youįound as loving as those who were satisfied. Their notorious feelings have not been immortal enough.
Going in and out, and often staying the night.)īut if you are yearning, then sing the lovers: for long With all the vast strange thoughts in you Like a Beloved, came near to you? (Where could you contain her, Still, distracted by expectation, as if all you experienced, All this was their mission.īut could you handle it? Were you not always, Lifted towards you out of the past, or, as you walked Must have been there for you so you might feel it. Will feel the expansion of air, in more intimate flight. To add to the spaces we breathe maybe the birds Is she less heavy for lovers?Īh, they only hide their fate between themselves.ĭo you not know yet? Throw the emptiness out of your arms The longed-for, gentle, disappointing one, whom the solitary heart Wears out our faces – whom would she not stay for, Oh, and the night, the night, when the wind full of space That liked us, and so stayed, and never departed.
Perhaps there remainsĪgain each day: there remains to us yesterday’s street, The beginning of terror, that we are still able to bear,Īnd we revere it so, because it calmly disdainsĪnd so I hold myself back and swallow the cryĪnd the resourceful creatures see clearly Take me to its heart, I would vanish into its Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the Angelic ‘The Cry’ - Auguste Rodin (French, 1840 - 1917), The Los Angeles County Museum of Art This work may be freely reproduced, stored and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose. Published as part of the collection ‘ The Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke’, ISBN-10: 1512129461, May 2015. Made available as an individual work in the United Kingdom, 2004, via the Poetry in Translation website. Read more Rilke, with a commentary on the Elegies entitled The Fountain of Joy. ‘The Earth’ - Auguste Rodin (French, 1840 - 1917), The Getty Open Content Program
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