by Garcilaso de la Vega
Daphne's arms were already growing,
and in long branches he showed himself;
in green leaves I saw that they became
the hair that the gold darkened.
They were covered with rough bark
the tender limbs, which were still bubbling:
the white feet on the ground knelt down,
and they turned into crooked roots.
He who was the cause of such damage,
by dint of crying, I grew
this tree that watered with tears.
Oh miserable state! Oh bad size!
That with crying it grows every day
the cause and the reason why he cried!




