photography
as penelope weaves she dreams of storms at sea
Book 24: Lines 140-142, 153
This was her latest masterpiece of guile:
she set up a great loom in the royal hallsand she would lead us on: 'Young men,
and she began to weave, and the weaving finespun,
the yarns endless,
my suitors, now that King Odysseus is no more,
go slowly, keen as you are to marry me, until
I can finish off this web...
so my weaving won't all fray and come to nothing.
This is a shroud for old lord Laertes, for that day
when the deadly fate that lays us out at last will take him down.
I dread the shame my countrywomen would heap upon me,
yes, if a man of such wealth should lie in state
without a shroud for cover.'
Her very words,
and despite our pride and passion we believed her.
So by day she'd weave at her great and growing web--
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