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Love-Song
How shall I hold my soul, that it may not
be touching yours? How shall I lift it then
above you to where other things are waiting?
Ah, gladly would I lodge it, all forgot,
with some lost thing the dark is isolating
on some remote and silent spot that, when
your depths vibrate, is not itself vibrating.
You and me--all that lights upon us, though
brings us together like a fiddle-bow
drawing one voice from two strings it glides along.
Across what instruments have we been spanned?
And what violinist holds us in his hand?
O sweetest song.
Ranier Maria Rilke
How shall I hold my soul, that it may not
be touching yours? How shall I lift it then
above you to where other things are waiting?
Ah, gladly would I lodge it, all forgot,
with some lost thing the dark is isolating
on some remote and silent spot that, when
your depths vibrate, is not itself vibrating.
You and me--all that lights upon us, though
brings us together like a fiddle-bow
drawing one voice from two strings it glides along.
Across what instruments have we been spanned?
And what violinist holds us in his hand?
O sweetest song.
Ranier Maria Rilke