How I have felt that thing that's called 'to part', <br />and feel it still: a dark, invincible, <br />cruel something by which what was joined so well <br />is once more shown, held out, and torn apart. <br /> <br />In what defenceless gaze at that I've stood, <br />which, as it, calling to me, let me go, <br />stayed there, as though it were all womanhood, <br />yet small and white and nothing more than, oh, <br /> <br />waving, now already unrelated <br />to me, a sight, continuing wave,--scarce now <br />explainable: perhaps a plum-tree bough <br />some perchinig cuckoo's hastily vacated. <br /> <br /> <br />Translated by J.B. Leishman<br /><br />Rainer Maria Rilke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/parting-4/
