![Apollo and Daphne by Gian Lorenzo Bernini, c. 1622-‘25
‘[Apollo] would have saidMuch more than this, but Daphne, frightened, left himWith many words unsaid, and she was lovelyEven in flight, her limbs bare in the wind,Her garments fluttering, ad her soft hair streaming,More beautiful than ever. But Apollo,Too young a god to waste his time in coaxing,Came following fast. When a hound starts a rabbitIn an open field, one runs for game, one safety. He has her, or thinks he has, and she is doubtfulWhether she’s caught or not, so close the margin,So ran the god and girl one swift in hope,The other in terror, but he ran more swiftly,borne not the wings of love, gave her no rest,Shadowed her shoulder, breathed on her streaming hair.Her strength was gone, worn out by the long effortOf the long flight; she was deathly pale, and seeing The river of her father, cried “O help me,If there is any power in the rivers,Change and destroy the body which has givenToo much delight!” And hardly had she finished,When her limbs grew numb and heavy, her soft breastsWere closed with delicate bark, her hair was leaves,Her arms were branches, and her speedy feet Rooted and held, and her head became a tree top,Everything gone except her grace, her shining.Apollo loved her still. He placed his handWhere he had hoped and felt the heart still beatingUnder the bark; and he embraced the branchesAs if they still were limbs, and kissed the wood,And the wood shrank from his kisses, and the godExclaimed: “Since you can never be my bride,My tree at least you shall be! Let the laurelAdorn, henceforth, my hair, my lyre, my quiver;Let Roman victors, in the long procession,Wear laurel wreaths for triumph and ovation.Beside Augustus’ portals let the laurelGuard and watch over the oak, and as my headIs always youthful, let the laurel alwaysBe green and shining!” He said no more. The laurel,Stirring, seemed to consent, to be saying “Yes.”’
-from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, trans. Rolfe Humphries](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m8jw5iTn8N1qm4javo1_500.jpg)
Apollo and Daphne by Gian Lorenzo Bernini, c. 1622-‘25
‘[Apollo] would have said
Much more than this, but Daphne, frightened, left him
With many words unsaid, and she was lovely
Even in flight, her limbs bare in the wind,
Her garments fluttering, ad her soft hair streaming,
More beautiful than ever. But Apollo,
Too young a god to waste his time in coaxing,
Came following fast. When a hound starts a rabbit
In an open field, one runs for game, one safety.
He has her, or thinks he has, and she is doubtful
Whether she’s caught or not, so close the margin,
So ran the god and girl one swift in hope,
The other in terror, but he ran more swiftly,
borne not the wings of love, gave her no rest,
Shadowed her shoulder, breathed on her streaming hair.
Her strength was gone, worn out by the long effort
Of the long flight; she was deathly pale, and seeing
The river of her father, cried “O help me,
If there is any power in the rivers,
Change and destroy the body which has given
Too much delight!” And hardly had she finished,
When her limbs grew numb and heavy, her soft breasts
Were closed with delicate bark, her hair was leaves,
Her arms were branches, and her speedy feet
Rooted and held, and her head became a tree top,
Everything gone except her grace, her shining.
Apollo loved her still. He placed his hand
Where he had hoped and felt the heart still beating
Under the bark; and he embraced the branches
As if they still were limbs, and kissed the wood,
And the wood shrank from his kisses, and the god
Exclaimed: “Since you can never be my bride,
My tree at least you shall be! Let the laurel
Adorn, henceforth, my hair, my lyre, my quiver;
Let Roman victors, in the long procession,
Wear laurel wreaths for triumph and ovation.
Beside Augustus’ portals let the laurel
Guard and watch over the oak, and as my head
Is always youthful, let the laurel always
Be green and shining!” He said no more. The laurel,
Stirring, seemed to consent, to be saying “Yes.”’
-from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, trans. Rolfe Humphries
