Between us there is but a narrow wall, 
and by sheer chance; for it would take
merely a call from your lips or from mine
to break it down,
and that without a sound.

The wall is builded of your images.

They stand before you hiding you like names, 
And when the light within me blazes high 
that in my inmost soul I know you by,
the radiance is squandered on their frames.

And then my senses, which too soon grow lame, 
exiled from you, must go their homeless ways. 

– Rainer Maria Rilke 

(here for the original)