Daphne and Apollo lyrics

Apollo's first love was Daphne, Peneus' daughter,
Not by blind chance but because Cupid was angry.
Flush with his victory over Python, the Delian god
Saw him stringing and flexing his bow, and said:
"What do you think you're doing, you little imp,
With a man's weapons? That archery set
Belongs on my shoulders. I can take dead aim
Against wild beasts, I can wound my enemies,
And just now I laid low in a shower of arrows
Swollen Python and left his noxious belly
Spread out over acres. You should be satisfied
With using your torch to inflame people with love
And stop laying claim to glory that is mine."
The son of Venus repliеd: "Phoebus, your arrows
May hit everything еlse, but mine will hit you.
And as much as animals are inferior to gods,
So is my glory superior to yours." He spoke
And, beating his wings with a vengeance, landed
On the shady peak of Parnassus. He stood there,
And drew from his quiver two quite different arrows,
One that dispels love and one that impels it.
The latter is golden with a sharp glistening point,
The former blunt with a shaft made of lead.

The god struck the nymph with arrow number two
And feathered the first deep into Apollo's marrow.
One now loved, the other fled love's very name,
Delighting in the deep woods, wearing the skins
Of animals she caught, modeling herself
On the virgin Diana, her tussled hair tied back.
She had many suitors but could not endure men,
So she turned them away, and roamed the pathless woods
Without a thought of Hymen, or Amor, or marriage.
Her father often said, "You owe me a son-in-law, girl." Often observed, "You owe me grandchildren, my daughter."
But she hated the wedding torch like sin itself
And her beautiful face would blush with shame
As she hung from his neck with coaxing arms, saying,
"O Papa, please, won't you let me enjoy
My virginity forever? Diana's father let her."
Of course he agreed; but your very loveliness, Daphne,
Prevents your wish, your beauty opposes your prayer.
Apollo loves her at sight and desires to wed her.
What he desires he hopes for, but here his oracular
Powers desert him. As light stubble blazes
In a harvested field, or as a hedge catches fire
From embers a traveler has let get too close
Or has forgotten at daybreak, so too the god
Went up in flames, and all his heart burned
And fed his impossible passion with hope.
He sees the hair that flows all across her neck
And wonders, "What if it were combed?" Sees her eyes
Flash like stars; sees her mouth, which merely to see
Is hardly enough. He praises her fingers, her hands
Her arms, which for the most part are bare,
And what is hidden he imagines is better.

Her flight is faster than if she were wind,
And she does not pause to hear him calling her back:
"Nymph of Peneus, I beg you, stop! I am not
Pursuing you as an enemy. Please, nymph, stop!
This is how a lamb runs away from a wolf,
A deer from a lion, a trembling dove from an eagle,
Each from her enemy, but Love makes me pursue you.
Ah, I am afraid you will fall, afraid that brambles
Will scratch your shins and that I, oh so wretched,
Will be the cause of your pain. This is rough terrain
You are running through. Run a little slower,
Please, and I'll slow down too. Or stop and ask
Who your lover is— no hillbilly or shepherd—
I don't mind the herds here, like some shaggy oaf.
You do not know, my rash one, you just don't know
Who you are running from, and that's why you run.
Delphi is mine; I am lord of Claros and Tenedos
And the realm of Patara. Jove is my father.
What shall be, what is now, and what has been
Are all revealed by me. It is through me that songs
Are played in tune on the lyre. My arrows are sure,
But one arrow more sure has wounded my heart
That once was carefree. I invented medicine,
I am called the Healer throughout the world,
The potency of herbs is my domain, but oh,
Love cannot be cured by herbs, and the arts
That benefit all are of no use to their lord."
He would have said more, but the Peneid nymph
Was running scared and left his words unfinished.
She was still a lovely sight. The wind bared her body
And as she cut through the air, her clothes fluttering
As her hair streamed out behind her in the breeze,
Her beauty augmented by flight. But the young god
Could not waste any more time on sweet talk,
Not with the Love God himself urging him on,
And he picked up the pace. A Gallic hound
Snuffs out and starts a hare in a field,
The hound running for prey, the hare for her life,
And now the hunter thinks he has her, thinks
Any moment now, his muzzle grazing her heels,
While she, unsure whether she is finally caught,
Writhes out of his jaws with a sudden spurt.
So too the virgin and the deity ran,
His speed spurred by hope and hers by fear,
But the pursuer closed in, boosted by Cupid's wings,
And he gave her no rest, staying right on her back,
His breath fanning the hair on the base of her neck.
She turned pale as her strength began to run out,
Beaten by the speed and the length of the race.

When she saw the waters of the Peneus, she cried,
"Help me, father! If your streams have divine power,
Destroy this too pleasing beauty of mine
By transforming me!" She had just finished her prayer
When a heavy numbness invaded her body
And a sheathe of bark enclosed her soft breast.
Her hair turned into fluttering leaves, her arms Into branches; her feet, once so swift, Became mired in roots, and her face was lost
In the canopy. Only her beauty's sheen remained.
Apollo still loved her, and pressing his hand
Against her trunk he felt her heart quivering
Under the new bark. He embraced her limbs
With his own arms, and he kissed the wood,
But even the wood shrank from his kisses.
The god said to her: "Since you can't be my bride
You will be my tree. My hair wil be wreathed
With you, Laurel, and you wil crown my quiver and lyre.
You will accompany the Roman generals
When joyful voices ring out their triumphs
And their long parades wind beneath the Capitol.
You will ornament Augustus' doorposts,
A faithful guardian standing watch over
The oak leaves between them. And just as my head
With its unshorn hair is forever young,
You will always wear beautiful, undying leaves."
Apollo was done. The laurel bowed her new branches
And seemed to nod her leafy crown in assent.