The Book of Pilgrimage, II, 22 -- Rainer Maria Rilke

(Poem #138)The Book of Pilgrimage, II, 22 You are the future, the red sky before sunrise over the fields of time. You are the cock's crow when night is done, You are the dew and the bells of matins, maiden, stranger, mother, death. You create yourself in ever-changing shapes that rise from the stuff of our days -- unsung, unmourned, undescribed, like a forest we never knew. You are the deep innerness of all things, the last word that can never be spoken. To each of us you reveal yourself differently: to the ship as coastline, to the shore as a ship. -- Rainer Maria Rilke

Autumn -- Rainer Maria Rilke

(Poem #58)Autumn Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by. Now overlap the sundials with your shadows, and on the meadows let the wind go free. Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine; grant them a few more warm transparent days, urge them on to fulfillment then, and press the final sweetness into the heavy wine. Whoever has no house now, will never have one. Whoever is alone will stay alone, will sit, read, write long letters through the evening, and wander along the boulevards, up and down, restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing. -- Rainer Maria Rilke