Evening by Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by David Young)

The evening gradually puts on the clothes
held for it by an ancient row of trees;
you watch, and now your world takes leave of you,
with one part going toward heaven and one that falls;

they leave you not belonging much to either,
not quite so dark as the now silent house,
not quite so ready to call on the eternal
as that which turns to star each night and rises;

they leave you speechless, trying to unsnarl
your life that’s frightened, huge and ripening,
that turns, partly confused, partly enlightened,
sometimes to stone in you, sometimes to star.


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