These verses are for the golden-haired daughter. She was nestled in the foam of grey waves. Well-dressed. And bathed in graces. Anointed with sacred oil, befitting the gods.

She awaited, with a bite in her heart, the beauty of Anchises. Instead, the sea – how could it? – cast here dragons. That gnawed homelands with their teeth. That reaped souls with their claws.

And if the fierce onslaught had been foreseen by Euklos, stepping barefoot on the embers, he could not prevent it. And since then the daughter longs for her land, living in her land…

And nothing is more bitter… To long for your land, living in your land, nothing is more bitter. (Giorgos Seferis)