O now we have, with what whimpering
caressed ourselves, shoulders and eyelids.
And night has withdrawn into the rooms
like a wounded beast, in pain through us.
Were you elected from all for me,
was the sister not sufficient?
Lovely as a valley to me was your essence,
and now too, from the prow of the heavens
it bows down an unfailing apparition
and he takes possession. Where to go?
Alas, with the gesture of mourning
you incline towards me, un-consoled.
Copyright © 2021 by Rainer Maria Rilke. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
