The Young Poet       He scarcely knows whether he still belongs to his mother: so greatly have all the proportions of his feelings altered since the irruption of the elements into his infinite heart.       O you mothers of poets. You chosen resorts of the Gods, in whose womb even the Unheard of must have been concerted. Did you hear voices in the depth of your conception, or did the Heavenly Ones communicate by signs? R. M. Rilke