Rainer Maria Rilke

(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926 / Prague / Czech Republic)

Rainer Maria Rilke Poems

81. Solemn Hour 1/3/2003
82. Song 1/13/2003
83. Song Of The Orphan 1/13/2003
84. Song Of The Sea 1/13/2003
85. Spanish Dancer 1/13/2003
86. Sunset 1/3/2003
87. Telling You All 1/3/2003
88. The Apple Orchard 1/3/2003
89. The Blindman's Song 1/3/2003
90. The Future 1/13/2003
91. The Grown-Up 1/13/2003
92. The Last Evening 1/13/2003
93. The Last Supper 1/13/2003
94. The Lovers 1/3/2003
95. The Neighbor 1/13/2003
96. The Panther 1/3/2003
97. The Poet 1/3/2003
98. The Sisters 1/3/2003
99. The Song Of The Beggar 1/13/2003
100. The Song Of The Blindman 1/13/2003
101. The Song Of The Widow 1/13/2003
102. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: I 1/13/2003
103. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: Vi 1/13/2003
104. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: Xiii 1/13/2003
105. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: Xxiii 1/13/2003
106. The Sonnets To Orpheus: I 1/13/2003
107. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Iv 1/13/2003
108. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Xix 1/13/2003
109. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Xxv 1/13/2003
110. The Spanish Dancer 1/3/2003
111. The Swan 1/13/2003
112. The Unicorn 1/3/2003
113. The Voices 1/13/2003
114. The Wait 1/13/2003
115. To Lou Andreas-Salome 1/13/2003
116. To Music 1/13/2003
117. To Say Before Going To Sleep 1/3/2003
118. Venetian Morning 1/13/2003
119. Water Lily 1/13/2003
120. What Birds Plunge Through Is Not The Intimate Space 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Rainer Maria Rilke

A Walk

My eyes already touch the sunny hill.
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has inner light, even from a distance-

and charges us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on
answering our own wave...
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.


Translated by Robert Bly

Read the full of A Walk

Slumber Song

Some day, if I should ever lose you,
will you be able then to go to sleep
without me softly whispering above you
like night air stirring in the linden tree?

Without my waking here and watching
and saying words as tender as eyelids
that come to rest weightlessly upon your breast,
upon your sleeping limbs, upon your lips?

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