Coy Daphne fled from Phoebus' hot pursuit,
 Careless of passion, senseless of remorse.
    Whilst he complained his griefs, she rested mute.
 He begged her to stay, she still kept on her course.
    But what reward she had for this, you see:
    She rests transformed, a winter-beaten tree.

The Answer:
    Chaste Daphne fled from Phoebus' hot pursuit,
 Knowing men's passions idle and of course.
    And, though he 'plained, 'twas fit she should be mute,
 And honour would she should keep on her course.
    For which fair deed her glory still we see:
    She rests still Green, and so wish I to be.