Suddenly my memory recalls a line of a drama I watched a couple years ago - the Unexpected Man. "Life is bitter."
Yes, bitter. Very bitter it can be.
Contre qui, rose? by Maria Rilke
Contre qui, rose,
avez-vous adopté
ces épines?
Votre joie trop fine
vous a-t-elle forcée
de devenir cette chose armée?
Mais de qui vous protége
cette arme exagérée
Combien d'ennemis vous ai-je
enlevés
qui ne la craignaient point?
Au contraire, dété en automne,
vous blessez les soins
qu'on vous donne.
Against whom, rose?
Against whom, rose,
have you assumed these thorns?
Is it your too fragile joy
that forced you to become this armed thing?
But from whom does it protect you,
this exaggerated defense.
How many enemies have I lifted from you
who did not feat it at all?
On the contrary, from summer to autumn you wound
the affection that is given you.
have you assumed these thorns?
Is it your too fragile joy
that forced you to become this armed thing?
But from whom does it protect you,
this exaggerated defense.
How many enemies have I lifted from you
who did not feat it at all?
On the contrary, from summer to autumn you wound
the affection that is given you.
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