It was not in me It came and wentI wanted to hold it It was held by wine(I no longer know what it was)
Yet, no matter how deeply I go down into myself, my God is dark, and like a webbing made of a hundred roots that drink in silence.
The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke
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Yet, no matter how deeply I go down into myself, my God is dark, and like a webbing made of a hundred roots that drink in silence.
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