Set out on the mountains of the heart. See, how small there, Look: the last village of words, and higher, also tiny, one last farmstead of feeling. Recognize it? Set out on the mountains of the heart. Stony ground under your hands. Here some things flourish; out of the silent precipice an unknowing herb breaks singing into bloom. But the knower? Ah, he who began to know and is silent now, set out on the mountains of the heart. There are some, knowlege intact, that wander about, many a safe mountain creature crosses and stays. And the great protected bird circles round the peaks' pure refusal. Unprotected, here on the mountains of the heart. . . Translated from the German by Elinor Castendyk Briefs.