Rainer Maria Rilke (1875–1926)

THE KNIGHT rides forth in blackest mail,

The rustling world to meet.

Out there he finds all: the day and the dale

And the friend and the foe and the castle’s pale,

And fair May and fair maid and the woods and the grail,

And God Himself doth never fail

To stand upon the street.

But within the knightly armour yonder,

Behind that gloomy wringing,

Cowers death and has to ponder, ponder:

When will the blade come springing

Over the iron wall,

The stranger, freedom bringing,

That from my hiding-place shall call

Me forth, where I for many a day

Am waiting, crouched and clinging,

That I may stretch out, once for all,

With play

And singing?