A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang - Umnet

and give stare for stare to golden-haired Apollo as he drives his blazing
car triumphant through the high heavens?
"Sunflowers" is the name by which we know those flamboyant
blossoms which somehow fail so wholly to suggest the story of Clytie,
the nymph whose destruction came from a faithful, unrequited love.
She was a water-nymph, a timid, gentle being who frequented lonely
streams, and bathed where the blue dragon-flies dart across the white
water-lilies in pellucid lakes. In the shade of the tall poplar trees and
the silvery willows she took her midday rest, and feared the hours when
the flowers drooped their heads and the rippling water lost its coolness
before the fierce glare of the sun.
But there came a day when, into the dark pool by which she sat, Apollo
the Conqueror looked down and mirrored his face. And nevermore did
she hide from the golden-haired god who, from the moment when she
had seen in the water the picture of his radiant beauty, became the lord
and master of her heart and soul. All night she awaited his coming, and
the Dawn saw her looking eastward for the first golden gleams from the
wheels of his chariot. All day she followed him with her longing gaze,
nor did she ever cease to feast her eyes upon his beauty until the last
reflection of his radiance had faded from the western sky.
Such devotion might have touched the heart of the sun-god, but he had
no wish to own a love for which he had not sought. The nymph's
adoration irked him, nor did pity come as Love's pale substitute when
he marked how, day by day, her face grew whiter and more white, and
her lovely form wasted away. For nine days, without food or drink, she
kept her shamed vigil. Only one word of love did she crave.
Unexacting in the humility of her devotion, she would gratefully have
nourished her hungry heart upon one kindly glance. But Apollo, full of
scorn and anger, lashed up his fiery steeds as he each day drove past
her, nor deigned for her a glance more gentle than that which he threw
on the satyrs as they hid in the dense green foliage of the shadowy
woods.
Half-mocking, Diana said, "In truth the fair nymph who throws her
heart's treasures at the feet of my golden-locked brother that he may