The Coming of War: Actaon
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 Actæon." Actaeon of golden greaves! Over fair meadows, Over the cool face of that field, Unstill, ever moving, Host of an ancient people, The silent cortège.
This poem is in the public domain.