Ekphrasis - Borghese Gallary

Apollo and Daphne:

The myth of laurel leaves stands in the round,

Two figures arched with stresses of a chase.

A boastful god whose lustful heart was found,

and nymph whose heart did hatred twine and case.

O, Eros did the making of this art.

He shot his bow, though present it is not.

In stone, Bernini shines light on the heart

And makes the gazers, too, feel they’ve been shot.

Apollo, reckless in his state of mind

Curls his palm about young Daphne’s waist.

Though not soft skin was it that he did find,

 But bark that crept and slithered and defaced.

Before his eyes, what Daphne was did flee,

As she had asked her father for his aid.

The river god did hear and took pity,

And saved her from the sun god’s lustful shade.

In eyes of Phoebus one can see the haze

Of venom shot by Cupid’s fleeting bow.

It’s fear and hope that mingle in the gaze

of Daphne as roots from her toes do grow.

The wind that floats their marble locks aloft,

Will soon sound like a different sort of breeze.

It rustles through Apollo’s draping cloth,

And trembles, tumbling through Daphne’s leaves.

Such rounded petals from her fingers spring.

Apollo’s feet, they barely touch the ground.

While rooted now she is in new body,

Apollo takes delight in how she’s bound.

As when he finds his love turned to a tree,

What we can see when standing, oh, just right.

He makes her leaves portray the victories,

And symbolize his presence from that night.

Where are your bow and arrows now, young god?

Your skills so praised and very high above?

You have been beat, your nectar drained and thawed.

Not by a fleet or Titan, but by love.