A god can do it. But how, tell me, could
a man follow him through the narrow lyre?
His mind divides. Where two heart-roads cross
there can be no temple for Apollo.
Singing, as you teach it, is not desire,
not the courting of some end to be attained.
Singing is Being. Easy, for a god.
But for us, when are we? And when does he
cast all the earth and stars upon our lives?
It's not, youth, when you're in love, even if
then your voice forces open your mouth,---
learn to forget those songs. They elapse.
True singing is a different breath.
A breath serving nothing. A gust in the god. A wind.
By Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Edward Snow