Return to Ithaca
Upon the storm-tossed sea was I,
Alone on my wreck of a ship.
The winds were perverse.
Why now this dread curse?
As I struggled to live and mused I might die.
I prayed to Poseidon to stop the foul tide,
That I was a slave to, forced to abide
By rules so relentless
That fighting is fruitless
At night with the roaring of waves by my side.
I prayed to the gods to save my poor life,
That I might return to my child and my wife.
I miss that fair mistress
Who pines in her distress
And worries about me through struggle and strife.
Tossing and tumbling about in the break,
With great Zeus’s thunder, for which I did quake,
The lightning ‘round flashed
And thundering thrashed
The waves which around me my prison did make.
Just as I thought my query was lost,
And hope was subdued with a wintery frost,
My mind in the dark,
When I saw the spark,
Of light through the clouds though near faint in exhaust.
The light broke through clouds as flowers through soil
And I dared hope I was through with my toil.
The waves, they did settle,
A smooth glasslike metal,
As my ship gently bumped on my homeland’s pure soil.