Laughter of the gods, O Saronic Gulf, forever great, whose currents
favour our ship,
just as your deep calm does, so we too will listen deeply
to the howling storm.
Beneath the frost, Athens, a dove, shivers with her body’s
she feels both pleasure and, like a bride, looks forward
to the sunrise.
The sky, now clear, is the mane of Pegasus, fair
fortune for the Parthenon,
it’s like a glass Zeus is holding upside down to pour out
a flood of dream-light.
I, prodigal son, have come to you again, to sway
in the breeze like a flower;
O soil, sky and sea of Attica, to you I owe
everything, especially the Song!