Home To Penelope: A Homeric Ode In B Flat Major
Home I came over the famed
Homeric wine dark sea,
Odysseus as I am named,
to be with you, Penelope,
to rumour from my halls
that suitors would my rivals be.
On the plain before Troy’s walls
or on the waves, huge and free,
I had fallen to my end,
they wished, so one of them
could take the place of me.
But not even Polyphemus,
the Cyclops in his cave,
could do more than dent my knee.
Now, free of beggarly disguise,
I wait in our grand Olympian bed
for you to let fall your robe,
your waiting widow sorrow shed.