A good, deep, poem that stands on its own:
I love the dark hours of my being.
My mind deepens into them.
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life already lived,
and held like a legend, and understood.
Then the knowing comes: I can open
to another life that’s wide and timeless.
So I am sometimes like a tree
rustling over a gravesite
and making real the dream
of the one its living roots embrace:
a dream once lost
among the sorrows and songs.
– Rainer Maria Rilke
(Translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Marcy)
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