Rainer Maria Rilke

BEFORE SUMMER RAIN

.

Suddenly from all the green around you,

something - you don't know what - has disappeared;

you feel it creeping closer to the window,

in total silence. From the nearby wood

.

you hear the urgent whistling of a plover,

reminding you of someones St. Jerome:

so much solitude and passion come

from that one voice, whose fierce request the downpour

.

will grant. The walls, with their ancient portraits, glide

away from us, cautiously, as though

they weren't supposed to hear what we were saying.

.

And reflected on the faded tapestries now:

the chill, uncertain sunlight of those long

childhood hours when you were so afraid.