No: My heart will become a tower.
I'll stop by the tower myself:
There's nothing there. It's still a tragedy.
Silence is still the world.
There's something left in the clearing,
It's dark, it's bright again,
Finally, there is a face of desire,
Became anxious after being abandoned,
The farthest surface is made of stone.
Willing to bear the weight of the heart,
Destroy it quietly in the distance
But to force it to become more and more sacred.
(Paris, mid-August, 1907)
This poem, like most of Rilke's works, expresses his inner loneliness.
Rilke, born in Prague, has no hometown.
He has been wandering all his life.
Try to find my real hometown.
Where is my hometown?
He looked around.
But stubbornly guarding loneliness.
This poem vividly depicts such content.