Can I withhold my soul so that it does not touch yours?
Can I lift my soul over you to other things?
I would eagerly give my soul a secret place to hide - somewhere silent and secret - someplace that does not resonate when your depths vibrate.
Yet, everything that touches us, you and me,
takes us together as a violin bow's stroke does,
that out of two strings draws a single voice.

Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what player has us in his hand?
Oh sweet, sweet song.

The brook has gentle melodies,
and far away is dust and city;
the treetops are swaying back and forth
and making me so drowsy.

The woods are wild, the world is wide
my heart is clear and big;
pale Solitude is holding
my head upon her lap.
Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by M.D. Herter Norton

Do you know?
I would secretly slip from the loud circle,
when first I know the pale stars
above the oaks are blooming.

Ways will I elect
that seldom any tread
in soft evening meadows -
And no dream but this:
You come too.