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Rainer Maria Rilke

EARLY APOLLO

As when at times there breaks through branches bare

A morning vibrant with the breath of spring,

About this poet-head a splendour rare

Transforms it almost to a mortal thing.

There is as yet no shadow in his glance,

Too cool his temples for the laurel's glow;

But later o'er those marble brows, perchance,

A rose-garden with bushes tall will grow,

And single petals one by one will fall

O'er the still mouth and break its silent thrall,

—The mouth that trembles with a dawning smile

As though a song were rising there the while.

THE TOMB OF A YOUNG GIRL

We still remember! The same as of yore

All that has happened once again must be.

As grows a lemon-tree upon the shore—

It was like that—your light, small breasts you bore,

And his blood's current coursed like the wild sea.

That god—

who was the wanderer, the slim

Despoiler of fair women; he—the wise,—

But sweet and glowing as your thoughts of him

Who cast a shadow over your young limb

While bending like your arched brows o'er your eyes.

THE POET

You Hour! From me you ever take your flight,

Your swift wings wound me as they whir along;

Without you void would be my day and night,

Without you I'll not capture my great song.

I have no earthly spot where I can live,

I have no love, I have no household fane,

And all the things to which myself I give

Impoverish me with richness they attain.