by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by C.F. MacIntyre
And the angel, taking due pains, told
The man who clenched his fists:
But can’t you see in her robe’s every fold
That she is cool as the Lord’s morning mists?
But the other, gazing gloomily, just murmured:
What is it has wrought this change in her?
Then cried the angel to him: Carpenter,
can’t you see yet that God is acting here?
Because you plane the planks, in your pride would
you really make the Lord God answerable
who unpretentiously from the same wood
makes the leaves burst forth, the young buds swell?
He understood that. And now as he raised
His frightened glance toward the angel who
Was gone already…slowly the man drew
His heavy cap off. Then in song he praised.