In your current is the laughter of the gods,
Saronica immortal, the blessing of our ship,
like your deep calm, and just as deep the tempest
we'd have heard here.
Beneath the hoar-frost, body damply torpid,
the dove that's Athens shivers,
is enraptured, and awaits the distant sunrise
like a bride.
Where the clouds clear, there the sky is Pegasus' flank,
as fair as the fate of the Parthenon;
Zeus inverts a glass to spill the
flood of dreamlight.
Prodigal, I arrive a child again to you, to bend
before the breeze just like a flower;
earth, sky, and sea of Attica, to you I'll always
owe the Song!
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