377

377

Rilke : IM ALTEN HAUS

I am in the old house.

All of Prague

Goes out from me in roundelay.

I watch the dusk pass,

Descend.

The hour elapses silently.

The city distorts, dislimns,

As through a glass.

One point is clear :

The cupola tower of St. Nicholas,

A Titan's-helm

In lofty green of verdigris.

Here and there a light bounds,

Prickling through

The turbulence and gloom.

I am in the old house.

A faint “Amen” sounds,

As out of a communicating room.