Evenstar

She waited, as the evening
Waits for silver laughter.
She waited as the winter
Longs for dripping water.
She waited. Others left her,
Went riding far and wandering:
She waited, as a hollow
Fills with quiet haunting.
She spoke no jarring word,
Went warring not, nor ranging.
She wore no feckless sword;
She did no feat of daring.
She waited, for the healing
Of all things comes with waiting.
She waited, as the starlight
Waits for the world’s changing.

Solveig’s Song

Melancholy

There’s no help for it. February is bleak. Ironically, it is also the month of the Valentine. Combining both, here is a little Rilke on forsaken love.

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Maiden Melancholy

A knight, as from a proverb old,
Comes riding into mind.

He came. So through the wood and wold
The storm may come and all enfold.

He passed. So evening’s benison
May pass before your prayers are done,
Forsaken by the bell;
And though you’d cry aloud with woe,
You only whimper, long and low
Into your kerchief cold.

A knight, as from a proverb old,
Rides armored, far and fell.

His smile was sweet, and softly shone
Like antique light on elven-bone,
Like homesickness, like Christmas snow
On darkling rooftops, like the row
Of pearls set round a turquoise stone,
Like soft moon-glow
Upon a book loved well.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke, from the Book of Images