By: Rainer Maria Rilke
The darkness hung like richness in the room
When like a dream the mother entered there
And then a glass’s tinkle stirred the air
Near where a boy sat in the silent gloom.
The room betrayed the mother—so she felt—
She kissed her boy and questioned “Are you here?”
And with a gesture that he held most dear
Down for a moment by his side she knelt.
Toward the piano they both shyly glanced
For she would sing to him on many a night,
And the child seated in the fading light
Would listen strangely as if half entranced,
His large eyes fastened with a quiet glow
Upon the hand which by her ring seemed bent
And slowly wandering o’er the white keys went
Moving as though against a drift of snow.
Translated by: Rainer Maria Rilke