Daphne to Apollo. Imitated From The First Book Of Ovid's Metamorphosis
Apollo.
Abate, fair fugitive, abate thy speed,
Dismiss thy fears, and turn thy beauteous head;
With kind regard a panting lover view;
Less swiftly fly, less swiftly I'll pursue;
Pathless, alas! and rugged is the ground,
Some stone may hurt thee, or some thorn may wound.
Daphne
aside
]
This care is for himself as pure as death;
One mile has put the fellow out of breath:
He'll never go, I'll lead him th' other round;
Washy he is, perhaps not over sound.
Apollo
You fly, alas! not knowing whom you fly;
Nor ill-bred swain, nor rusty clown am I:
I Claros' isle and Tenedos command -
Daphne
Thank ye, I would not leave my native land.
Apollo
What is to come be certain arts I know.
Daphne
Pish! Partridge has a fair pretence as you.
Apollo
Behold the beauty of my locks -
Daphne
---------- A fig ---------
That may be counterfeit, a Spanish wig:
Who cares for all that bush of curling hair,
Whilst your smooth chin is so extremely bare?
Apollo
I sing. -------
Daphne
That never shall be Daphne's choice.
Syphacio had an admirable voice.
Apollo
Of every herb I tell the mystic power,
To certain health the patient I restore,
Sent for, caress'd -
Daphne
-- Ours is a wholesome air;
You'd better go to Town and practise there:
For me, I've no obstructions to remove;
I'm pretty well, I thank your father Jove,
And physic is a weak ally to love.
Apollo
For learning famed, fine verses I compose.
Daphne
So do your brother quacks and brother beaux;
Memorials only and reviews write prose.
Apollo
From the bent yew I send the pointed reed,
Sure of its aim, and fatal in its speed. -
Daphne
Then leaving me, whom sure you would not kill,
In yonder thicket exercise your skill:
Shoot there at beasts; but for the human heart
Your cousin Cupid has the only dart.
Apollo
Yet turn, O beauteous maid, yet deign to hear
A love-sick deity's impetuous prayer!
O let me woo thee as thou wouldst be woo'd.
Daphne
First, therefore, don't be so extremely rude;
Don't tear the hedges down and tread the clover,
Like an hobgoblin rather than a lover:
Next, to my father's grotto sometimes come,
At ebbing tide he always is at home.
Read the Courant with him, and let him know
A little politics, how matters go
Upon his brother-rivers Rhine or Po.
As any maid or footman comes or goes,
Pull off your hat and ask how Daphne does:
These sort of folks will to each other tell
That you respect me; that you know looks well!
Then if you are, as you pretend, the god
That rules the day, and much upon the road,
You'll find a hundred trifles in your way,
That you may bring one home from Africa;
Some little rarity, some bird or best,
And now and then a jewel from the East;
A lacquer'd cabinet, some China-ware;
You have them mighty cheap at Pekin fair.
Next,
note bene
, you shall never rove,
Nor take example by your father Jove.
Last, for the ease and comfort of my life,
Make me (Lord what startles you?) your wife.
I'm now (they say) sixteen, or something more;
We mortals seldom live about fourscore:
Fourscore; you're good at numbers; let us see,
Seventeen suppose, remaining sixty-three;
Ay, in that span of time you'll bury me.
Mean-time, if you have tumult, noise, and strife,
(Things not abhorrent to a married life)
They'll quickly end, you see; what signify
A few odd years to you that never die?
And, after all, you're half your time away,
You know your business takes you up all day;
And coming late to bed you need not fear,
Whatever noise I make, you'll sleep my dear;
Or, if a winter evening should be long,
Even read your physic-book, or make a song.
Your wife, your steeds, diachalon, and rhyme,
May take up any honest godhead's time.
Thus, as you like it, you may love again,
And let another Daphne have her reign.
Now love, or leave, my dear; retreat, or follow;
I Daphne (this premised) take thee Apollo;
And may I split into ten thousand trees
If I give up on other terms than these.
She said, but what the amorous god replied,
So Fate ordain'd, is to our search denied;
By rats, alas! the manuscript is ate;
O cruel banquet which we all regret;
Bavius, thy labours must this work restore,
May thy good-will be equal to thy power.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Related quotes
A Song of Daphne to the Lute
My Daphne's Haire is twisted Gold,
Bright starres a-piece her Eyes doe hold,
My Daphne's Brow inthrones the Graces,
My Daphne's Beauty staines all Faces,
On Daphne's Cheeke grow Rose and Cherry,
On Daphne's Lip a sweeter Berry,
Daphne's snowy Hand but touch'd does melt,
And then no heauenlier Warmth is felt,
My Daphne's voice tunes all the Spheres,
My Daphne's Musick charmes all Eares.
Fond am I thus to sing her prayse ;
These glories now are turn'd to Bayes.
Apollo's Song
My Daphne's hair is twisted gold,
Bright stars apiece her eyes do hold,
My Daphne's brow enthrones the Graces,
My Daphne's beauty stains all faces,
On Daphne's cheek grow rose and cherry,
On Daphne's lip a sweeter berry,
Daphne's snowy hand but touched does melt,
And then no heavenlier warmth is felt,
My Daphne's voice tunes all the spheres,
My Daphne's music charms all ears.
Fond am I thus to sing her praise;
These glories now are turned to bays.
To A Young Lady, On Her Translation Of The Story Of Phoebus And Daphne, From Ovid
In Phœbus Wit (as Ovid said)
Enchanting Beauty woo'd;
In Daphne Beauty coily fled,
While vainly Wit pursu'd.
But when you trace what Ovid writ,
A diff'rent Turn we view;
Beauty no longer flies from Wit,
Since both are joyn'd in You.
Your Lines the wondrous Change impart,
From whence our Lawrels spring;
In Numbers fram'd to please the Heart,
And merit what they Sing.
Methinks thy Poet's gentle Shade
Its Wreath presents to Thee;
What Daphne owes you as a Maid,
She pays you as a Tree.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Daphne
Daphne! Ladon's daughter, Daphne! Set thyself in silver light,
Take thy thoughts of fairest texture, weave them into words of white -
Weave the rhyme of rose-lipped Daphne, nymph of wooded stream and shade,
Flying love of bright Apollo, - fleeting type of faultless maid!
She, when followed from the forelands by the lord of lyre and lute,
Sped towards far-singing waters, past deep gardens flushed with fruit;
Took the path against Peneus, panted by its yellow banks;
Turned, and looked, and flew the faster through grey-tufted thicket ranks;
Flashed amongst high flowered sedges: leaped across the brook, and ran
Down to where the fourfold shadows of a nether glade began;
There she dropped, like falling Hesper, heavy hair of radiant head
Hiding all the young abundance of her beauty's white and red.
Came the yellow-tressed Far-darter - came the god whose feet are fire,
On his lips the name of Daphne, in his eyes a great desire;
Fond, full lips of lord and lover, sad because of suit denied;
Clear, grey eyes made keen by passion, panting, pained, unsatisfied.
Here he turned, and there he halted, now he paused, and now he flew,
Swifter than his sister's arrows, through soft dells of dreamy dew.
Vext with gleams of Ladon's daughter, dashed along the son of Jove,
Fast upon flower-trammelled Daphne fleeting on from grove to grove;
Flights of seawind hard behind him, breaths of bleak and whistling straits;
Drifts of driving cloud above him, like a troop of fierce-eyed Fates!
So he reached the water-shallows; then he stayed his steps, and heard
Daphne drop upon the grasses, fluttering like a wounded bird.
Was there help for Ladon's daughter? Saturn's son is high and just:
Did he come between her beauty and the fierce Far-darter's lust?
As she lay, the helpless maiden, caught and bound in fast eclipse,
Did the lips of god drain pleasure from her sweet and swooning lips?
Now that these and all Love's treasures blushed, before the spoiler, bare,
Was the wrong that shall be nameless done, and seen, and suffered there?
No! for Zeus is King and Father. Weary nymph and fiery god,
Bend the knee alike before him - he is kind, and he is lord!
Therefore sing how clear-browed Pallas - Pallas, friend of prayerful maid,
Lifted dazzling Daphne lightly, bore her down the breathless glade,
Did the thing that Zeus commanded: so it came to pass that he
Who had chased a white-armed virgin, caught at her, and clasped a tree.
poem by Henry Kendall
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The great rickshaw rider
he carries his newborn child
passengers on the backseat
a widower just cycles
no choice but his bike
father and rickshaw rider
sad thoughts of his dead wife
lovingly holding his child
he rides with his fate
a girl feels her fathers love
happy passengers arrived
a widower and newborn
on their bike for life
@ Ellie Daphne van Stralen
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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Inner delight
thoughts leaving harbors
warmest memories descend
slow waving pictures
recognizing soul
recovering saddest heart
mending inner light
©Ellie Daphne van Stralen 2012
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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Precipitate
Precipitate
Good bad, Saturn makes your mind break in pieces
Good bad, so you cannot find the dimensions
and it will be around these spots that I've given to you
you will know that you'll greet my vapours every time that you pass through this room
pass through this room
walk through my gloom
Daphne you find me
Daphne, when you find me let the blood drive and come alive with me Daphne,
symmetry you can't help but admire or rejoice from this sister
be bad, Saturn makes your mind break in pieces
Good bad, so you cannot find the conventions
it will be around these spots that I've given to you
you will know that you'll greet my vapours every time that you pass through this room
pass through this room
walk through my gloom
Daphne you find me
Daphne you find me to put you were inside you fight for my memory Daphne symmetry you can't help but admire or rejoice for this, seems to be
Daphne come as on display will you find a way to draw the curtains of damp around your blushing ambition
blushing ambition...
I found you inside my mind
I lost you inside my mind
I found you inside my mind
I lost you inside my mind
I was a child I was a vice a coyote, conditions occasions facts
I was a child I was a vice a coyote, conditions occasions facts
erase them all perhaps
erase them all
erase them all perhaps
my own thing, my own thing
now you're all that I have here
now we can't remember
but you could fall back on lust when you've learnt to wait
they can be like the friends and neighbours you will get to appreciate them
I have inside me some strange glow
still enjoying this that's why I made a mess
song performed by by Interpol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Snow-heat
my heart sets on fire
first snow-crystal on my skin
a heartfelt meltdown
©Ellie Daphne van Stralen 11/24/2012
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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Intuition
listen
or be deaf for
the sound inside
you'll hear the message loud
you'll see everything
you need
warning
or a clear sign
intimate deep
surprisingly well known
a little light shines on you
inside
©Ellie Daphne van Stralen 2012
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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Take a break..................
sharing a moment
the serenity of space
the light of a flame
©Ellie Daphne van Stralen 2012
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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Autumn leaves
november gale force
cold air all over the place
naked trees message
paths in front of me
tapestries of whirling leaves
carpets of small twigs
everything blown off
premature delivering
that wintery blues
©Ellie Daphne van Stralen 2012
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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Written in a Collection of Bacchanalian Songs
Adieu, ye jovial Youths! who join
To plunge old Care in floods of wine;
And, as your dazzled eyeballs roll,
Discern him struggling in the bowl.
Nor yet is hope so wholly flown,
Nor yet is thought so tedious grown,
But limpid stream and shady tree
Retain, as yet, some sweets for me.
And see, through yonder silent grove,
See, yonder does my Daphne rove!
With pride her footsteps I pursue,
And bid your frantic joys adieu.
The sole confusion I admire,
Is that my Daphne's eyes inspire;
I scorn the madness you approve,
And value reason next to love.
poem by William Shenstone
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Solar Eclipse
Observe these blue solemnities of sky
Offering for the academes of after-ages
A mythologic welkin freaked with white!
Listen : one tiny tinkling rivulet
Accentuates the super-sultry stillness
That drones on ripening landscapes which imply
Serene Parnassus plagued with amorous goats.
* * * *
Far down the vale Apollo has pursued
The noon-bedazzled nymph whose hunted heart
Holds but the trampling panic whence it fled,
And now the heavens are piled with darkening trouble
And counter-march of clouds that troop intent
Fire-crested into conflict.
Daphne turns
At the wood's edge in bronze and olive gloom:
Sickness assails the sun whose blazing disc
Dwindles : the Eden of those auburn slopes
Lours in the tarnished copper of eclipse.
Yet virgin in her god-impelled approach
To Graeco-Roman ravishment, she waits
While the unsated python slides to crush
Her lust-eluding fleetness. Envious Jove
Rumbles Olympus. All the classic world
Leans breathless toward the legend she creates.
From thunderous vapour smites the immortal beam . . .
Then, crowned with fangs of foliage, flames the god.
* * * *
' Apollo ! ' ... Up the autumn valley echoes
A hollow shout from nowhere. Daphne's limbs
Lapse into laureldom : green-shadowed flesh
Writhes aborescent; glamour obscures her gaze
With blind and bossed distortion. She escapes.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Daphne's Visit
Ye birds! for whom I rear'd the grove,
With melting lay salute my love;
My Daphne with your notes detain,
Or I have rear'd my grove in vain.
Ye flowers! before her footsteps rise:
Display at once your brightest dyes;
That she your opening charms may see,
Or what are all your charms to me?
Kind Zephyr! brush each fragrant flower,
And shed its odours round my bower;
Or never more, O gentle Wind!
Shall I from thee refreshment find.
Ye Streams! if e'er your banks I loved,
If e'er your native sounds improved,
May each soft murmur soothe my fair,
Or oh! 'twill deepen my despair.
And thou, my Grot! whose lonely bounds
The melancholy pine surrounds,
May Daphne praise thy peaceful gloom,
Or thou shalt prove her Damon's tomb.
poem by William Shenstone
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Hooked
the emptiness of the silence
the limitation the space
the infinity of the dark
the length of the awaiting
the helplessness of paralysis
hooked in herself
seated on her chair
wandering
where this will end
the continuing of the times
that will be changing
she shares
her essentials
coming out her of nutshell
her eyes show off
her words depict
her warmth conquers
who tells more
who knows more
who shares more
who is more herself
©Ellie Daphne van Stralen 2012
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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Richness of the spirit
the emptiness of the silence
the limitation the space
the infinity of the dark
the length of the awaiting
the helplessness of paralysis
hooked in herself
seated on her chair
wandering
where this will end
the continuing of the times
that will be changing
she shares
her essentials
coming out her of nutshell
her eyes show off
her words depict
her warmth conquers
who tells more
who knows more
who shares more
who is more herself
©Ellie Daphne van Stralen 2012
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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The Ballet
Round and round the dresses swirling
Arms now waving, as the scene mind
fed only begins to fulfil a dream
Tchaikovski planted there.
The Waltz of the flowers,
The music rises in happy expectation
The crescendo loudly crashes,
The dance is over.
The ballroom clears,
I am back in my living room.
The swirling dervish.
Daphne Grant
March 2006
From remembered experience of playing Tchaikovski at My London Road Flat
poem by Daphne Grant
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The Babbling Brook
clearest water flows gently
along and over my naked feet
the touch of its almost tacit sound
deafening beauty for a calming mind
thousands of tiny goosebumps
showing the numerous surprising shivers
trying to make sense
the softest sofa of fresh leaves and little twigs
spread a narcotic palette of autumn perfumes
coloring the signals of my soul
a generous friendly fire of chestnuts and acorns
compose a beat and feel of rhythm of the forests
tapping on my shoulder and head
changing every breath that I take
while softly knocking
at future's door
©Ellie Daphne van Stralen 2012
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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Apollo Laughs
'APOLLO laughs,' the proverb tells,
Far echo of old oracles,
A Delphic waif, —'Once in the year,
Apollo laughs.' O laughter clear
As sunshine, blithe as golden bells!
What mortal folly parallels
Olympian jest and so impels
To mirth till Heaven's bright charioteer,
Apollo, laughs?
'Tis when the annual critic knells
The death of poetry, while swells
Some faint, fresh wood-note, pioneer
Of music earth shall thrill to hear.
Then at Apollo's infidels
Apollo laughs.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Just A Moment
at the busy crossroad
the traffic jam
is complete
all roads crowded
all kinds of vehicles
have to stop
while their futile waiting time
disappears in stress
a cacophony of people
just talking about
them selves
complaining
about their situation
overpowering the impatient honking
of other drivers
still in their cars
in the queue
what should I do
secure the door
wait and watch the scenery
from my point of view
the intimacy
of the space
I feel is my own
or
open the window
and become a part
of the cram
hearing different sounds
creating
another way
homeward bound
©Ellie Daphne van Stralen 2012
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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