Once upon a time, I imagined she would be a river,
like her father, flowing in languid curves
across Thessaly on her way to Okeanos, with her lovely sister.
Swift water is a worthy rival to race, and splendid to win for my own enjoyment,
and surely not subject to the leaden arrows of savage little brats -
would those not sink like a stone, sooner than find their mark?
I swear to you, I thought her tears were laughter, not fear,
and with so sweet a voice, how could I imagine her cries were not in jest?
And when she stood frozen, rooted in place, I thought her merely shy -
though when I felt flaking bark scrape against my sun-scolded face,
of course I knew at once that it had happened again.
At this rate I may compete with dread Kore,
for my garden is overflowing with lovers
so beautiful and green with the bloom of their youth
(yet I must assume none would envy them).
Come along, laurel bough, and crown the charming boys
who race and wrestle for glory and my favour, which so displeased you.
Perhaps you will find them prettier, and more to your taste?
Do not think me cruel, Daphne - I hear how you rustle with gossip,
and your leaves perfume the air with bitterness.
The Muses shall sing of you, while I console your dear sister.
Iron Noder 2023, 5/30