As when at Delphi, Thymus close behind, <br />He flew through stadium to applause's roar, <br />So on this plinth now Ladas runs one more, <br />On bronze foot, slim, and swifter than the wind. <br /> <br />With arm outstretched, eyes fixed, trunk front inclined, <br />The beaded drops of sweat his face glide o'er; <br />Surely while sculptor did the metal pour, <br />The athlete leaped from mould in form designed. <br /> <br />He throbs, he trembles, hopes, yet fears to lose; <br />His side pants, the cleaved air his lips refuse, <br />And with the strain his muscles jutting rise. <br /> <br />His spirit's ardor is beyond control, <br />And passing o'er supporting base he flies <br />In the arena toward the palm and goal.<br /><br />Jose Maria de Heredia<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-runner-10/
