There is the sea and who shall drain it dry?
It breeds the purple stain, the dark red dye
we use to color our garments,
costly as silver.
This house has an abundance. Thanks
be to gods, no poverty here.
Oh I would have vowed the trampling of
if an oracle had ordered it, to ransom this
For when the root is alive the leaves come
and shade the house against white dogstar
Your homecoming is warmth in winter.
Or when Zeus makes wine from bitter
and coolness fills the house
as the master walks his halls,
Zeus, Zeus, god of things perfect,
accomplish my prayers.
Concern yourself here.
Aeschylus’s Agamemnon, (trans. Anne Carson from An Oresteia)