Autumn
by Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)
(translation by Robert Bly)
The leaves are falling, falling as if from far up,
as if orchards were dying high in space.
Each leaf falls as if it were motioning “no.”
And tonight the heavy earth is falling
away from all other stars in the loneliness.
We’re all falling. This hand here is falling.
And look at the other one. It’s in them all.
And yet there is Someone, with hands
infinitely calm, holding up all this falling.
