You, the hour, are deserting me,
wounding me with the beat of your wings.
Alone: now what use my mouth?
What are my days and nights to me?
I have no sweetheart and no house,
nowhere that is my home ground. All things
into which I give myself
grow in riches and give me out.
Rainer Maria Rilke (Translated by Susan Ranson and Marielle Sutherland)