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
Hosts of an ancient people,
The silent cortège.