Oh, soap bubbles!
Memories of Sundays long ago:
their emptiness takes its revenge
by fabricating these round fruits
of nothingness. A bit of breath
boasts of being launched.
And just as they start
to think, these bubbles burst.
Who would not be filled
with a tender carelessness,
seeing with what ease they leave us,
these sighs that wash their hands.
– Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Migration of Powers in The Complete French Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke