43
" Why, if our time on earth could be
spent as laurel, its green darker than
all others, its leaves edged with
little waves (like the smile of a wind) —: then why do we
have to be human—and avoiding destiny,
long for destiny? . . .
Oh not because there is happiness,
that rash profit taken just prior to impending loss,
Not out of curiosity, or to give the heart practice,
reasons that would hold for the laurel too . . .
But because being here is so much, and because everything
in this fleeting world seems to need us, and
strangely speaks to us. "
― Rainer Maria Rilke , Duino Elegies
45
" Oh trees of life, when will your winter come?
We're not in tune. Not like migratory birds.
Outmoded, late, in haste, we force ourselves on winds
which let us down upon indifferent ponds.
Though we've had to learn how flowering is fading,
somewhere lions still roam,
unaware, in their majesty, of any weakness.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, from the “Fourth Elegy,” Duino Elegies. Trans. by David Young. (W. W. Norton & Company; 1 edition, June 17, 2006) Originally published 1923. "
― Rainer Maria Rilke , Duino Elegies
47
" It's strange, of course, no longer to inhabit the earth,
no longer to practice barely learned customs,
not to give roses and other auspicious things
the meaning of a human future;
to be no longer what one was in infinitely
anxious hands, and even to put aside
one's own name like a broken toy.
Strange, to no longer keep wishing our wishes. Strange,
to see elements, once related, flutter
loosely in space. And being dead is toilsome,
and full of the retrieving needed if little by little
we're to feel a bit of eternity. "
― Rainer Maria Rilke , Duino Elegies
51
" How dear will you be to me then,
you nights of affliction. Why couldn't I kneel more deeply and accept you,
inconsolable sisters, or lose myself more
freely in your loosened hair. We spendthrifts of sorrows.
How we scan beyond them ahead into sad duration
to see if perhaps they might have an end. But they are truly
our winter-hardy foliage, the dark green of our life's meaning,
one season of our secret year—, not only
time—, but also place, settlement, shelter, soil, abode. "
― Rainer Maria Rilke , Duino Elegies