To the end of the trail / Richard Hovey [electronic text]

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But Love, who saves and slays in a strange fashion, Smote twain for this maid-queen of glens and glades. Love pierced the great Apollo with keen passion, And sent Leucippus masking with the maids. It is an ill thing to contend with gods. Leucippus did not long behold the light In the leaves like sifted gold. Lo, they have stripped him and beaten with rods, Mocked him and cursed him and slain him quite. But Daphne far from the strife sat cold,

Lone and unmoved, and the god came to her there, Abashed, and lay at her feet and begged his bliss With the lips Song sprang from, and sighed his soul for a kiss — He, to whom kings made prayer. So great Apollo sued; But she, with her maiden heart Fluttered and frayed as a bird in a snare, Fled with fear-laden heart Into the wood. And Apollo up-leaping And rent with desire and despair, Sped after her, crying: "Ah, leave me not, love, to lie widowed and weeping! Oh, Daphne! Daphne!" and the sound went sighing, "Oh, Daphne!" softlier through the echoing arches, But the maid flees the swiftlier that the air Shakes with that longing sound. Swift, swift the sweet shape speeds between the larches! Swift, swift the god pursues, and now is near With arms outstretched to clasp! Despair Spurs her — but love has faster feet than fear. She hears his sandals smite the ground And feels his breathing on her neck and hair.