The Coming of War: Actaeon


An image of Lethe,
     and the fields
Full of faint light
     but golden,
Gray cliffs,
     and beneath them
A sea
Harsher than granite,
     unstill, never ceasing;
High forms
     with the movement of gods,
Perilous aspect;
     And one said:
"This is Actaeon."
     Actaeon of golden greaves!
Over fair meadows,
Over the cool face of that field,
Unstill, even moving,
Hosts of an ancient people,
The silent cort├Ęge.


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