Ephemera (Buck)/At the Games
AT THE GAMES
Well run, Lysippos! Well run, O gleaming arrow! Artemis herself is not one half so fleet!
(By Zeus! nor half so marvelously agile—that I swear! See how the gliding muscles of his thighs ripple beneath the skin. Behold the slender waist, the broad, smooth bosom stirred by the breath of conflict.)
Ah! The laurel! The laurel to the guide of winds! . . . Ho, Nisos, why limpest thou? Ho, ho! Thou wert outrun a thousand times, thou feigner of accidents!
(No wonder that, when he shows himself on the Agora, even the cheeks of the old men grow pale; no wonder the philosophers cease their windy nothings and gaze abashed—But they are all fools! . . . Listen, I will tell thee a great secret . . . It is I he loves! It is I he loves! . . . Ah! . . . By Zeus! he is coming this way!)