Maidens II

Maidens the poets learn from you to tell
    How solitary and remote you are,
    As night is lighted by one high bright star
    They draw light from the distance where you dwell.

    For poet you must always maiden be
    Even though his eyes the woman in you wake
    Wedding brocade your fragile wrists would break,
    Mysterious, elusive, from him flee.

    Within his garden let him wait alone
    Where benches stand expectant in the shade
    Within the chamber where the lyre was played
    Where he received you as the eternal One.

    Go! It grows dark--your voice and form no more
    His senses seek; he now no longer sees
    A white robe fluttering under dark beech trees
    Along the pathway where it gleamed before.

    He loves the long paths where no footfalls ring,
    And he loves much the silent chamber where
    Like a soft whisper through the quiet air
    He hears your voice, far distant, vanishing.

    The softly stealing echo comes again
    From crowds of men whom, wearily, he shuns;
    And many see you there--so his thought runs--
    And tenderest memories are pierced with pain.

        Rainer Maria Rilke
        (tr. Jessie Lamont)