Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ULYSSES RETURNS, by ROSELLE MERCIER MONTGOMERY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ULYSSES RETURNS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Ulysses has come back to me again
Last Line: He never tells -- but penelope knows!
Subject(s): Homecoming; Mythology - Classical; Ulysses; Odysseus


I

PENELOPE SPEAKS

Ulysses has come back to me again!
I listen when he tells me of the sea,
But he has strange reserves . . . and strangely he
Stares in the fire . . . I question him, and then
He tells me more of arms . . . and men --
But there is something . . . Heart, what can it be
He sees there that he will not tell to me?
What swift withdrawal makes him alien?

Oh, there are many things that women know,
That no one tells them, no one needs to tell;
And that they know, their dearest never guess!
Because the woman heart is fashioned so.
I know that he has loved another well,
Still his remembering lips know her caress!

II

CIRCE SPEAKS

So swift to bloom, so soon to pass, Love's flower!
The sea that brought him, took him back again --
Ah, well, so is the world and so are men!
But he was happy with me here an hour,
Or almost happy, here within my bower!
He had his silences, his moments when
A strange abstraction took him . . . I knew then
That he remembered . . . slipped beyond my power!

I brought him strange, bright blossoms that were grown
In emerald gardens, underneath the sea,
We rode white horses, far beyond the shore --
I would not let him sit and think alone!
One day he held me long and tenderly . . .
I knew, I knew that he would come no more!

III

ULYSSES SPEAKS

Was it I, was it I who dallied there
With a strange, sweet woman beside the sea?
Did she race the wind on the beach with me?
Was it I who kissed her and called her fair?
Was it I who fondled her soft, gold hair --
While she wove and waited me patiently
The woman I love, my Penelope?
Was it I who lingered in Circe's snare?

Now my foot again in my hall is set,
And my keel is dry and my sails are furled:
Beside me, the face I could not forget,
That called me back from across the world --
But there in the fire . . . those red lips wet,
And that soft, gold hair by the sea-mist curled!

IV

PENELOPE SEWS

Oh, the hearts of men, they are rovers, all!
And men will go down to the sea in ships,
And they stop when they hear the sirens call,
And lean to the lure of their red, wet lips!
But never a Circe has snared one yet,
In a green, cool cavern beside the sea.
Who could make the heart of him quite forget
A patiently waiting Penelope!

Yet -- there's never a roving one returns
But will sit him down in his easy chair,
While Penelope sews and the fire burns,
And into the depths of it stare . . . and stare.
The fire burns and Penelope sews . . .
He never tells -- but Penelope knows!





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