See how my limbs are gnarled;
My graceful arms
Now have become these branches
My fingers, once slender
Could have caressed a lyre as tenderly
As a mother would her newborn babe
My golden tresses leaves became:
Fair as any maid, I was—
But for love was I rendered thus
Now I have no warmth when winter’s gales
Screech across the open plain
But from small creatures seeking shelter within my boughs
Warned by my father of beauty’s fate
He yet consented that I should maiden remain
Through mine own haven did Apollo give chase
For love of me through Cupid’s folly
Which I could not, would not abide
(Nor ever could, for any man)
I am Laurel become
Though I was not always thus
Nay, I was not always thus
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