My eyes already touch the sunny hill. <br />going far ahead of the road I have begun. <br />So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp; <br />it has inner light, even from a distance- <br /> <br />and charges us, even if we do not reach it, <br />into something else, which, hardly sensing it, <br />we already are; a gesture waves us on <br />answering our own wave... <br />but what we feel is the wind in our faces. <br /> <br /> <br />Translated by Robert Bly<br /><br />Rainer Maria Rilke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-walk/
