Sonnet by Rainer Maria Rilke
Through my life there trembles with out plaint,
without a sigh a deep-dark melancholy.
The pure and snowy blossoming of my dreams
is the consecration of my stillest days.
But oftentimes the great question crosses
my path. I become small and go
coldly past as though along some lake
whose flood I have not hardihood to measure.
And then a sorrow sinks upon me, dusky
as the gray of lusterless summer nights
through which a star glimmers--now and then--
because I want so much to pray sounds
that my hot mouth cannot find...