I love this poem. Although, my favorite translation is this one:
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.
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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.
Alas, I have no idea who translated it.
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