Wednesday
Jun062012

The hour bows down and stirs me

The hour bows down and stirs me

with a clear and ringing stroke;

my senses tremble.  I feel that I can—

and I seize the forming day.

 

Nothing was yet done before I beheld it,

and every becoming stood still;

my ways of seeing are ripe, and, like a bride,

to each one comes the thing each wills.

 

Nothing is too small for me, and I love it anyway

and paint it on the golden base and large—

and hold it high; and I don’t know whose

soul this might yet free . . .

 

Rainer Maria Rilke, from Prayers of a Young Poet, translated and introduced by Mark S. Burrows

    (Brewster, MA:  Paraclete Press, forthcoming in October, 2012), 1