
The vines in every season, the trim beds
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ἄλλας δὲ τραπέουσι· πάροιθε δέ τʼ ὄμφακές εἰσιν ἄνθος ἀφιεῖσαι, ἕτεραι δʼ ὑποπερκάζουσιν. ἔνθα δὲ κοσμηταὶ πρασιαὶ παρὰ νείατον ὄρχον παντοῖαι πεφύασιν, ἐπηετανὸν γανόωσαι·
and others they tread; and in front the grapes are unripe, shedding their blossom, while others begin to darken. There, along the outermost row, trim garden-beds of every kind flourish, gleaming the year round.
The tour of the miraculous garden continues. Every stage of the grape harvest goes on at once — treading, unripe clusters, darkening fruit — and beyond the last row of vines lie the flower-beds that bloom the year through.
The vineyard's simultaneity is spelled out plainly: some clusters are being trodden for wine, some are still hard and green, some are only now going dark. Past the last row, the garden-beds bloom without a break, bright in every season.
The quiet point is abundance as a moral fact, not just a wonder. In the Odyssey a house is judged by whether it feeds its guests, and the suitors back on Ithaca are eating one bare. Alcinous's endless garden is the opposite image — plenty so secure it never has to be hoarded — and it sets up the welcome Odysseus is about to receive.
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Odyssey 7.125 — The Great Library Project interlinear edition · greatlibraryproject.com/book/odyssey/7.125/