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.