
So I marvel — and dread to touch your knees
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ὣς δʼ αὔτως καὶ κεῖνο ἰδὼν ἐτεθήπεα θυμῷ δήν, ἐπεὶ οὔ πω τοῖον ἀνήλυθεν ἐκ δόρυ γαίης, ὡς σέ, γύναι, ἄγαμαί τε τέθηπά τε, δείδια δʼ αἰνῶς γούνων ἅψασθαι· χαλεπὸν δέ με πένθος ἱκάνει.
So, likewise, seeing that shoot I was amazed at heart for long, since never yet had sprung such a shaft from the earth — as now, lady, I marvel at you and am astonished, and dread terribly to touch your knees; grievous grief comes upon me.
Odysseus closes the simile and turns it on Nausicaa. Just as the young palm at Delos held him spellbound, so she does now — and the wonder mixes with real fear, because a suppliant would normally clasp a protector's knees, and he does not dare.
The comparison snaps shut. The palm made him stand and stare; she does the same. But the wonder carries an admission built into ritual: a suppliant clasps the knees of the one he begs, and Odysseus says he does not dare to. His plea is made from a respectful distance he chooses not to close.
The reason he gives is not modesty but grief. Naked, filthy, and unsure of his welcome, he will not lay hands on a young girl even in the posture that would bind her to help him. He turns the missing gesture into part of the appeal — the very restraint becomes an argument for pity.
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