Un­der­stand, I’ll slip qui­et­ly
Away from the noisy crowd
When I see the pale
Stars ris­ing, bloom­ing over the oaks.
I’ll pur­sue soli­tary path­ways
Through the pale twilit mead­ows,
With on­ly this one dream:
You come too.

From “First Po­ems” — Rain­er Maria Rilke