How shall I maintain my soul in order
that it might not mix with yours? How shall
I lift it over you toward other things?
Ah, but I would gladly give it shelter
with something lost in the dapplings
of a strange and quiet place that will
not waver with your deepest shudder.
Yet all that brings the two of us low
takes us together like the stroke of a bow
that from two strings draws one harmony.
On what instrument are we splayed?
And what player's hand has played?
Oh, sweet melody.
[Rainer Maria Rilke, 'Love Song', from Rilke: New Poems]