She sat there, like the others, having tea,
it seemed she held her cup a different way,
not like the others, it was clear to see.
She smiled, it almost hurt, but once that day.
When they arose and started talking
meandering through rooms, as if by chance,
I looked at her, they laughed as she was walking,
she followed them, too slowly, as in trance.
But hesitating now as if somehow expected
to sing before a crowd, with much at stake,
her smiling eyes alight as they reflected
an inner brightness, coming from a lake.
She followed, hesitating, as it took awhile,
as if some hurdles, to be conquered soon,
and that, advancing still in single file
she surely would be flying and not walking, soon.
HERBERT...VERY WELL CRAFTED WORK...TIGHT, SMOOTH FLUX & AND A STELLAR COMMAND OF IMAGERY...TAKING THE READER NOY ONLY TO THE WORK, BUT WITHIN THE WORK...NO EASY FEAT...FRANK
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thanks Frank, don't forget it's not my work, just translated from Rilke. Best H