As Love and Hatred are at odds
The question is which is to win
For stories about men and gods
Have given us some insight in.
Consider that contest between
Apollo, on the one side who
Made fun of Cupid he had seen
A bow the little rascal drew:
“Your bow and arrow aren’t for
Such baby boys,” Apollo said—
“But I’ve a bow that I can score
A bull’s eye by my arrowhead.”
But Cupid told Apollo, “You—
Are less an archer sir, than I;
Just look at what a boy can do
To put a dart in a bull’s eye!”
Taking an arrow tipped by gold
In aiming at Apollo’s breast
When he let go his arrow’s hold
He won the archery contest;
Since every god’s immortal, so
The god was not about to die
But he endured a mortal blow:
In love Apollo heaved a sigh.
And who was it that he did see
The moment that the arrow hit
But Daphne, the young lady he
Was smitten by because of it?
An arrowhead of lead Love took
To notch the arrow in his bow
That, letting go of it, had struck
The maiden in the heart also;
For Hate was in the arrowhead
That hit the lady in the heart,
Making her despise him instead
Of loving him stung by a dart.
And whilst she fled Apollo who
Could not but follow after her
As it was love made him pursue
The lady on a moment’s spur;
And what a chase it was to see!
A god in love with such a one,
Who, seeing him, began to flee
As quickly as a girl could run.
So, in that wood as Daphne fled
Her lover ran with all his might
Who glimpsing her yet up ahead
Was turned on by her very sight.
And as he followed from behind
As she her suitor all the more
Repelled by him who she did find
Repulsive for his longing for.
Now just imagine how that was!
The god immortal couldn’t die
Would follow after her and thus
Repel her he was turned on by!
For she despised the god in turn,
Who even more so she turned on,
In spite of how it was she’d spurn
Him, after her, that he had gone!
The same old story has been told
Ten million million times before:
Of how an arrow tipped with gold
Divided hearts in two once more.
To think of it who wouldn’t weep?
How fast it was that maiden ran
Away from him, who, had to keep
On running faster than she can!
Meanwhile, just as he overtook
That lady, praying in distress,
Her father’s spirit of the Brook
Caused her a metamorphosis.
She turned into a Laurel Tree,
Preferring to be green instead
Since she would keep virginity
So as to save her maidenhead.
For, even as she was surpassed
And overtaken through pursuit
Because she couldn’t run as fast
The virgin’s feet had taken root;
So as the virgin’s maidenhood
Began green foliage to sprout,
She turned into a Laurel Wood
Within herself, as well as out.
Though all of this was to elude
Her lover wanting to embrace
A lady whom he had pursued,
Engaging in an age-old chase;
Whilst, for the very life of me,
I won’t accept decisions made
By one who’d rather be a tree,
(To, anyway, be an old maid);
She chose to, and she left a guy
Bereft—without a choice but to
Make all he could the best of by
Loving a tree in Daphne’s lieu;
The Laurel which Apollo took
To dedicate for Daphne’s sake
Became the moral of the Book
Of every misfortune we make;
Tree-huggers even so I guess
Show dedication to the trees,
Who, actually, love them less,
In being without sympathies.
The choices people often make
Seem so astonishing, because
By doing more for hatred’s sake
Then they incur a bitter loss.
But anyway that’s what she did.
And it was Love that had to win
The archer’s contest with Cupid,
To get back where we did begin;
So, if you would recall that day
The story started Cupid said:
Love is what has to find a way
That even overcomes hatred.
Because the very Laurel Tree
That gave Apollo laurels too,
Brought Daphne into Poetry,
That was no easy thing to do;
So every poet wears a crown
Of laurels in remembrance:
To turn an up out of a down
By giving Loss significance;
For Love, it is. wins after all
And Hatred is forgotten for
This tale which is, as I recall,
In praise of Love forevermore.
Greek Myth (Daphne and Apollo)
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