Betrayal. It stays with you. Embeds itself in your view of the world, in your future relationships.

From Rilke’s “Tenth Elegy” from his Duino Elegies.

That I shall someday, starting out from the furious insight,
sing jubilation and praise up to the assenting angels.
That none of the heart's clearly struck hammers
shall fail on tender, dissenting or
severing string. That my streaming face
shall make me more brilliant; that the lusterless weeping
shall blossom. O nights, how dear you will be to me then, 
grieved ones. Had I only borne you disconsolate sisters
more kneelingly, only surrendered myself
more freely into your loosened hair. We, wasters of pains.
How we try to foresee them ahead in the spells of sadness,
whether they might not perhaps end. Yet they are
our wintering leafage, our dark greens of meaning,
one of the times of the hidden year -, not only
time -, but are place, settlement, shelter, ground, home

Translated by David Oswald

Some day, in the emergence from this fierce insight,
let me sing jubilation and praise to assenting Angels.
Let not a single one of the cleanly-struck hammers of my heart
deny me, through a slack, or a doubtful, or
a broken string. Let my streaming face
make me more radiant: let my secret weeping
bear flower. O, how dear you will be to me, then, Nights
of anguish. Inconsolable sisters, why did I not
kneel more to greet you, lose myself more
in your loosened hair? We, squanderers of pain.
How we gaze beyond them into duration’s sadness,
to see if they have an end. Though they are nothing but
our winter-suffering foliage, our dark evergreen,
one of the seasons of our inner year -- not only
season -- : but place, settlement, camp, soil, dwelling.

Translated by A. S. Kline c. 2001 All Rights Reserved

Each translation has its individual flavour.