from Women of Trachis
SAFE the port,
rocky the narrows,
Streams warm to a glaze on Oeta’s hill.
Malis’ pool and Dian’s beach
Neath her golden-shafted arrows
Ye who live here and disdeign
all greek towns less than the Pelean
SOON shall hear the skirl and din
Of flutes’ loud cackle shrill return,
Dear to Holy Muses as
Phoebus’ lyre ever was.
From the valours of his wars
Comes now the God, Alkmeme’s son
Bearing battle booty home.
TWELVE moons passing,
night long, ere day.
Knowing never, to come? to stay?
Tears, tears, till grief
Hath wrecked her heart away,
Ere mad Mars should end him
his working day.
TO PORT, to port.
Boat is still now;
The many oars move not.
By island shrine ere he come to the town
Day long, day long
If the charm of the gown prove not?
‘Tis dipped, aye in the unguent
drenched through it, in every fold.
in all as she had been told.