Ianthe can look forward to a time of wedding torches

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Ianthe can look forward to a time Of wedding torches and of wedding vows,And trusts that one whom she believes a manWill be her man. Iphis, however, loves With hopeless desperation, which increasesIn strict proportion to its hopelessnessAnd burns—a maiden—for another maid!ll. 1038-1047Cows do not burn for cows, nor mares for mares;The ram will have his sheep, the stag his does,And birds will do the same when they assemble;There are no animals whose females lustFor other females! I wish that I were dead! “But the gods have not denied my anythingAgreeably, they’ve given what they could;My father wishes for me what I wish, She and her father both would have it be;But Nature, much more powerful than they are, Wishes it not—sole source of all my woe!” And you who were so recently a girl Are now a boy! Bring gifts to the goddess! […]The next day’s sun revealed the great wide worldWith Venus, Juno, and Hymen all togetherGathered beneath the smoking nuptial torches, And Iphis in possession of Ianthe.
5- Art and Life: Book XOrpheus pleading with Pluto and Proserpina to return Eurydice
5- The Artist and his “Material”: Pygmalion (Book X) “During that time he created an ivory statue,a work of most marvelous art, and gave it a figurebetter than any living woman could boast ofand promptly conceived a passion for his own creation.you would have thought it alive, so like a real maidenthat only its natural modesty kept it from moving:art concealed artfulness. Pygmalion gazed in amazement,burning with love for what was in likeness a body”.(X, 315-323)
5- Art and Remembrance: Venus and Adonis (Book X) “’ My grief for Adonis will be rememberedforever, and every year will see, reenactedin ritual form, his death and my lamentation;and the blood of the hero will be transformed to a flower.Or were you not once allowed to change a young womanTo fragrant mint, Persephone? Do you begrudge meThe transformation of my beloved Adonis?’ “ And as she spoke, she sprinkled his blood with sweet nectar,which made it swell up, like a transparent bubblethat rises from muck; and in no more than an houra flower sprang out of that soil, blood red in its color,just like the flesh that lies underneath the tough rindof the seed-hiding pomegranate. Brief is its season, For the winds from which it takes its name, the anemone, Shake of those petals so lightly clinging and fated to perish.”(X, 843- 857)

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