Thy beauty hath fled, swept in the waves
But your fairness never ventured far.
Just the faint remnants of a scar
Are all that reveal thou to familiars.
Time hath burrowed into thy skin,
And dirt hath besieged thy face past repair.
Where have thou ventured all these years?
So far away from thy kin and country?
Surely thou hast requested the aid of a god
To form a guise most ingenious?
Age coulds’t have been so unkind to you.
Your dearest Penelope shall weep at you return,
My dear king, we must tell her
She’s never been immersed in such a cold world
than what thou hast thrust her into,
this sequestration has done her in
She’s spoken about you,
Oh, what joy she’ll feel at last!