Rainer Maria Rilke:

Der Abend ist mein Buch

Der Abend ist mein Buch. Ihm prangen
die Deckel purpurn in Damast;
ich löse seine goldnen Spangen
mit kühlen Händen, ohne Hast.

Und lese seine erste Seite,
beglückt durch den vertrauten Ton, -
und lese leiser seine zweite,
und seine dritte träum ich schon.

Rainer Maria Rilke:

The Evening is My Book

The evening is my book. Its lining
displays the crimson damask's flush;
I open buckles, golden shining,
with fingers cool, without a rush.

And read the first one of its pages,
with joys that so familiar seem -
the second, then, of gentler ages,
the third one I already dream...

---

This doesn't sound like the Rilke you know? Too stingily convoluted, too generously cantabile?

You may well be right. I believe - though I am not sure - that Rilke was in his early twenties when he wrote that poem. Truth to tell, that just made it easier for the composer. And for the translator, too...