O hour of my muse: why do you leave me, <br />Wounding me by the wingbeats of your flight? <br />Alone: what shall I use my mouth to utter? <br /> <br />How shall I pass my days? And how my nights? <br /> <br />I have no one to love. I have no home. <br />There is no center to sustain my life. <br />All things to which I give myself grow rich <br />and leave me spent, impoverished, alone.<br /><br />Rainer Maria Rilke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-poet-2/
