Patient Odysseus furrowed once of yore,
A glint of daylight through the darkness falls
On swaying helmets, tumbled bronze and gold,
On broidered vestments stiff and Tyrian dyed.
There hide they; but the sea-kings keep their state,
Telling of ancient dooms and deaths of old,
Nor know they how beside the darkened strait
And up the slopes of olive, vine and grain,
The dryads wail a land left desolate.
Wail thou, great Muse, the dear Sicilian land!