Poems, passage 178

And suddenly becomes a flaming torch. Her bright hair flames, her burning glances scorch, And with a daring art at her command Her whole robe blazes like a fire-brand From which is stretched each naked arm, awake, Gleaming and rattling like a frightened snake.

Poems, passage 193

When thou art dreaming then I am thy Dream, But when thou art awake I am thy Will Potent with splendour, radiant and sublime, Expanding like far space star-lit and still Into the distant mystic realm of Time.

Poems, passage 3

_Introduction:_ The Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke

Poems, passage 116

South-German night! the ripe moon hangs above Weaving enchantment o'er the shadowy lea. From the old tower the hours fall heavily Into the dark as though into the sea-- A rustle, a call of night-watch in the grove, Then for a while void silence fills the air; And then a violin (from God knows where) Awakes and slowly sings: Oh Love ... Oh Love ...

Poems, passage 162

From infinite longings finite deeds rise As fountains spring toward far-off glowing skies, But rushing swiftly upward weakly bend And trembling from their lack of power descend-- So through the falling torrent of our fears Our joyous force leaps like these dancing tears.

Poems, passage 202

Perform no miracles for me, But justify Thy laws to me Which, as the years pass by me. All soundlessly unfold.

Poems, passage 53

_The Book of Hours_ contains three parts written at different periods in the poet's life: _The Book of a Monk's Life_ (1899); _The Book of Pilgrimage_ (1901), and _The Book of Poverty and Death_ (1903), although the entire volume was not published until several years later. _The Book of Hours_ glows with a mystic fervour to know God, to be near him. In this desire to approach the Nameless One, the young Brother in _The Book of a Monk's Life_ builds up about God parables, images and legends reminiscent of those of the 17th century Angelus Silesius, but sustained by a more pregnant language because exalted by a more ardent visionary force. The motif of _The Monk's Life_ is expressed in the poem beginning with the lines:

Poems, passage 173

Among all the others there sat a guest Who sipped her tea as if one apart, And she held her cup not quite like the rest; Once she smiled so it pierced one's heart.

Poems, passage 187

Am I a bird that skims the clouds along, Or am I a wild storm, or a great song?

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_The Book of a Monk's Life_ I Live my Life in Circles Many have Painted Her In Cassocks Clad Thou Anxious One I Love My Life's Dark Hours

Poems, passage 77

Thou callest, thou callest and thou hast forgot That thou the same art not Who came to me In thy Virginity.

Poems, passage 38

A sojourn in Russia and especially the acquaintance with the novels of Dostoievsky became potent factors in Rilke's development and served to deepen creations which without this influence might have terminated in a grandiose aesthesia.

Poems, passage 102

I weep and weep alone, Weep always for my stone. What joy is my blood to me If it ripens like red wine? It cannot call back from the sea The life that was given for mine, Given for Love's sake.

Poems, passage 4

_First Poems:_ Evening Mary Virgin

Poems, passage 24

The young graduate of the Gymnasium was to enter upon the career of an army officer in accordance with the traditions of the family, an old noble house which traces its lineage far back to Carinthian ancestry. His inclinations, however, pointed so decisively in the direction of the finer arts of life that he left the Military Academy after a very short attendance to devote himself to the study of philosophy and the history of art.

Poems, passage 147

Outside the day was one of green and blue, With touches of a luminous glowing red, Across the quiet pond the small waves sped. Beyond the city, gardens hidden from view Sent odors of sweet blossoms on the breeze And singing sounded through the far off trees.

Poems, passage 51

There are in _The Book of Pictures_ poems in which this will to concentrate a mood into its essence and finality is applied to purely lyrical poems as in _Initiation_, that stands out in this volume like "the great dark tree" itself so immeasurable is the straight line of its aspiration reaching into the far distant silence of the night; or as in the poem entitled _Autumn_, with its melancholy mood of gentle descent in all nature.

Poems, passage 123

His large eyes fastened with a quiet glow Upon the hand which by her ring seemed bent And slowly wandering o'er the white keys went Moving as though against a drift of snow.

Poems, passage 134

What play you, O Boy? Through the garden it stole Like wandering steps, like a whisper--then mute; What play you, O Boy? Lo! your gypsying soul Is caught and held fast in the pipes of Pan's flute.

Poems, passage 61

* * * * *

Poems, passage 182

Through childhood's years I wandered unaware Of shimmering visions my thoughts now arrests To offer thee, as on an altar fair That's lighted by the bright flame of thy hair And wreathed by the blossoms of thy breasts.

Poems, passage 114

Command to ripen the last fruits of thine, Give to them two more burning days and press The last sweetness into the heavy wine.

Poems, passage 82

Thus all doth fall. This hand of mine must fall And lo! the other one:--it is the law. But there is One who holds this falling Infinitely softly in His hands.

Poems, passage 115

He who has now no house will ne'er build one, Who is alone will now remain alone; He will awake, will read, will letters write Through the long day and in the lonely night; And restless, solitary, he will rove Where the leaves rustle, wind-blown, in the grove.

Poems, passage 22

Prague, the city in which Rilke was born in 1875, with its sinister palaces and crumbling towers that rose in the early Middle Ages and have reached out into our time like the threatening fingers of mighty hands which have wielded swords for generations and which are stained with the blood of many wounds of many races; the city where amid grey old ruins blonde maidens are at play or are lost in reverie in the green cool parks and shady gardens with which the Bohemian capital abounds, this Prague of mingled grotesqueness and beauty gave to the young boy his first impressions.

Poems, passage 34

Particularly in the cycle _Songs of the Maidens_ in the book _Celebration_, the atmosphere is condensed and becomes the psychic background of the landscape against which the gesture of longing or expectation is seen and felt. It is the impatience to burst into blossoming, the longing for love which pulsates in these _Songs of the Maidens_ with the tenseness of suspense. _The Prayers of the Maidens to Mary_ have not the mild melody of maidenly prayer; they vibrate with the ecstasy of expectant life, and the Madonna is more than the Heavenly Virgin, their longing transforms her into the symbol of earthly love and motherhood. This expectation, in spite of its intensity, is subdued and is only heard like the cadence of a far off dream:

Poems, passage 160

The people watched with startled mien And passed with frightened glance For all know that only a Queen May dance in the lanes: dance!...

Poems, passage 139

He came! You felt yourself entwined As a great storm would round you wind. He went! A blessing undefined Seemed left, as when church-bells declined And left you wrapt in prayer. You fain would cry aloud--but bind Your scarf about you and tear-blind Weep softly in its fold.

Poems, passage 69

From no other book of his, not excepting _The Book of Hours_, can we deduce so accurate a conception of Rilke's philosophy of Life and Art as we can draw from his comparatively short monograph on Auguste Rodin.

Poems, passage 152

Upon the bridge the blind man stands alone, Gray like a mist veiled monument he towers As though of nameless realms the boundary stone About which circle distant starry hours.

Poems, passage 183

When my soul touches yours a great chord sings! How shall I tune it then to other things? O! That some spot in darkness could be found That does not vibrate whene'er your depths sound. But everything that touches you and me Welds us as played strings sound one melody. Where is the instrument whence the sounds flow? And whose the master-hand that holds the bow? O! Sweet song--

Poems, passage 128

Only mouths widening with a still broad smile Of comprehension, a strange knowing leer At white men, at their vanity and guile, An understanding that fills one with fear.

Poems, passage 56

There are poems in _The Book of Pilgrimage_ of the stillness of a whispered prayer in a great Cathedral and there are others that carry in their exultation the music of mighty hymns. The visions in this second book are no less ecstatic though less glowingly colourful; they have withdrawn inward and have brought a great peace and a great faith as in the poem of God, whose very manifestation is the quietude and hush of a silent world:

Poems, passage 95

Whosoever thou art! Out in the evening roam, Out from thy room thou know'st in every part, And far in the dim distance leave thy home, Whosoever thou art. Lift thine eyes which lingering see The shadows on the foot-worn threshold fall, Lift thine eyes slowly to the great dark tree That stands against heaven, solitary, tall, And thou hast visioned Life, its meanings rise Like words that in the silence clearer grow; As they unfold before thy will to know Gently withdraw thine eyes--

Poems, passage 137

Its wings beat gently, its note no more calls, Its flight has been spent by you, dreaming Boy! Now it no longer steals over my walls-- But in my garden I'd woo it to joy.

Poems, passage 49

In _The Book of Pictures_, Rilke's art reaches its culmination on what might be termed its monumental side. The visualization is elevated to the impersonal objective level which gives to the rhythm of these poems an imperturbable calm, to the figures presented a monumental erectness. _The Men of the House of Colonna_, _The Czars_, _Charles XII Riding Through the Ukraine_ are portrayed each with his individual historical gesture, with a luminosity as strong as the colour and movement which they gave to their time. In the mythical poem, _Kings in Legends_, this concrete element in the art of Rilke has found perhaps its supreme expression:

Poems, passage 155

She thinks: I am--Have you not seen? Who are you then, Marie? I am a Queen, I am a Queen! To your knee, to your knee!

Poems, passage 71

Rodin became to Rilke the manifestation of the divine principle of the creative impulse in man. Thus Rilke's monograph on Auguste Rodin will remain the poet's testament on Life and Art.

Poems, passage 203

In a house was one who arose from the feast And went forth to wander in distant lands, Because there was somewhere far off in the East A spot which he sought where a great Church stands. And ever his children, when breaking their bread, Thought of him and rose up and blessed him as dead.

Poems, passage 87

They all have tired mouths And luminous, illimitable souls; And a longing (as if for sin) Trembles at times through their dreams.

Poems, passage 210

_The Book of Poverty and Death_

Poems, passage 172

But there are times the pupils of his eyes Dilate, the strong limbs stand alert, apart, Tense with the flood of visions that arise Only to sink and die within his heart.

Poems, passage 45

"That is longing: To dwell in the flux of things, To have no home in the present. And these are wishes: gentle dialogues Of the poor hours with eternity."

Poems, passage 19

Until a few years ago, known only to a relatively small community on the continent but commanding an ever increasing attention which has borne his name far beyond the boundary of his country, the personality of Rainer Maria Rilke stands to-day beside the most illustrious poets of modern Europe.

Poems, passage 176

She followed on slowly after the last As though some object must be passed by, And yet as if were it once but passed She would no longer walk but fly.

Poems, passage 171

The pad of his strong feet, that ceaseless sound Of supple tread behind the iron bands, Is like a dance of strength circling around, While in the circle, stunned, a great will stands.

Poems, passage 117

Again the woods are odorous, the lark Lifts on upsoaring wings the heaven gray That hung above the tree-tops, veiled and dark, Where branches bare disclosed the empty day.

Poems, passage 8

_The Book of Pilgrimage_ By Day Thou Art The Legend and The Dream All Those Who Seek Thee In a House Was One Extinguish My Eyes In the Deep Nights

Poems, passage 92

The Knight rides forth in coat of mail Into the roar of the world. And here is Life: the vines in the vale And friend and foe, and the feast in the hall, And May and the maid, and the glen and the grail; God's flags afloat on every wall In a thousand streets unfurled.

Poems, passage 83

Whoever weeps somewhere out in the world Weeps without cause in the world Weeps over me.