They are assembled, astonished and disturbed <br />round him, who like a sage resolved his fate, <br />and now leaves those to whom he most belonged, <br />leaving and passing by them like a stranger. <br />The loneliness of old comes over him <br />which helped mature him for his deepest acts; <br />now will he once again walk through the olive grove, <br />and those who love him still will flee before his sight. <br /> <br />To this last supper he has summoned them, <br />and (like a shot that scatters birds from trees) <br />their hands draw back from reaching for the loaves <br />upon his word: they fly across to him; <br />they flutter, frightened, round the supper table <br />searching for an escape. But he is present <br />everywhere like an all-pervading twilight-hour. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />[On seeing Leonardo da Vinci's "Last Supper", Milan 1904.] <br /> <br /> <br />Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming<br /><br />Rainer Maria Rilke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-last-supper/
