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, ever moving, Host of an ancient people, The silent cortège.