Rainer Maria Rilke

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

Rainer Maria Rilke Poems

1. At The Brink Of Night 4/8/2015
2. Behind The Blameless Trees 3/2/2015
3. Falconry 4/3/2010
4. Growing Old 4/3/2010
5. The Song Of The Widow 1/13/2003
6. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: Vi 1/13/2003
7. The Neighbor 1/13/2003
8. The Song Of The Beggar 1/13/2003
9. The Song Of The Blindman 1/13/2003
10. Venetian Morning 1/13/2003
11. The Last Supper 1/13/2003
12. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Iv 1/13/2003
13. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Xxv 1/13/2003
14. My Life 4/3/2010
15. The Blindman's Song 1/3/2003
16. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: Xxiii 1/13/2003
17. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Xix 1/13/2003
18. Little Tear-Vase 1/13/2003
19. The Spanish Dancer 1/3/2003
20. The Apple Orchard 1/3/2003
21. The Last Evening 1/13/2003
22. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: I 1/13/2003
23. For Hans Carossa 1/13/2003
24. Encounter In The Chestnut Avenue 1/13/2003
25. Palm 1/3/2003
26. What Birds Plunge Through Is Not The Intimate Space 1/13/2003
27. From The Tenth Elegy 1/13/2003
28. Parting 1/13/2003
29. Eve 1/3/2003
30. Losing 4/3/2010
31. Lady At A Mirror 1/13/2003
32. Song Of The Orphan 1/13/2003
33. What Fields Are As Fragrant As Your Hands? 1/13/2003
34. Solemn Hour 1/3/2003
35. God Speaks To Each Of Us 4/3/2010
36. Song 1/13/2003
37. World Was In The Face Of The Beloved 1/13/2003
38. Night (O You Whose Countenance) 1/13/2003
39. Water Lily 1/13/2003
40. Piano Practice 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

Narcissus

Encircled by her arms as by a shell,
she hears her being murmur,
while forever he endures
the outrage of his too pure image...

Wistfully following their example,
nature re-enters herself;
contemplating its own sap, the flower
becomes too soft, and the boulder hardens...

[Report Error]