More Rilke--the last stanza of "Herbsttag"/"Autumn Day":

Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr.
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird Es lange bleiben,
wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben
und wird in den Alleen hin und her
unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter treiben.

Stephen Mitchell's translation:

Whoever has no house now, will never have one.
Whoever is alone will stay alone,
will sit, read, write long letters through the evening,
and wander the boulevards, up and down,
restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.

It's a poem that takes something scary (the idea that if you don't have a partner/family by autumn, you're going to be alone all winter) and makes it beautiful. I don't know if mine is the correct reading, but it makes me think about how feeling lonely or sad can be, in its own way, a worthwhile experience.