ACTÆON

By Alfred Noyes

2026-05-02

Light of beauty, O, “perfect in whiteness,”

Softly suffused thro’ the world's dark shrouds,

Kindling them all as they pass by thy brightness,—

Hills, men, cities,— a pageant of clouds,

Thou to whom Life and Time surrender

All earth's forms as to heaven's deep care,

Who shall pierce to thy naked splendour,

Bind his brows with thy hair?

Swift thro’ the sprays when Spring grew bolder

Young Actæon swept to the chase!

Golden the fawn-skin, back from the shoulder

Flowing, set free the limbs’ lithe grace,

Muscles of satin that rippled like sunny

Streams — a hunter, a young athlete,

Scattering dews and crushing out honey

Under his sandalled feet.

Sunset softened the crags of the mountain,

Silence melted the hunter's heart,

Only the sob of a falling fountain

Pulsed in a deep ravine apart:

All the forest seemed waiting breathless,

Eager to whisper the dying day

Some rich word that should utter the deathless

Secret of youth and May.

Down, as to May thro’ the flowers that attend her,

Slowly, on tip-toe, down the ravine

Fair as the sun-god, poising a slender

Spear like a moon-shaft silver and green,

Stole he! Ah, did the oak-wood ponder

Youth's glad dream in its heart of gloom?

Dryad or fawn was it started yonder?

Ah, what whisper of doom?

Gold, thro’ the ferns as he gazed and listened,

Shone the soul of the wood's deep dream,

One bright glade and a pool that glistened

Full in the face of the sun's last gleam,—

Gold in the heart of a violet dingle!

Young Actæon, beware! beware!

Who shall track, while the pulses tingle,

Spring to her woodland lair?

See, at his feet, what mystical quiver,

Maiden's girdle and robe of snow,

Tossed aside by the green glen-river

Ere she bathed in the pool below?

All the fragrance of April meets him

Full in the face with its young sweet breath;

Yet, as he steals to the glade, there greets him —

Hush, what whisper of death?

Lo, in the violets, lazily dreaming,

Young Diana, the huntress, lies:

One white side thro’ the violets gleaming

Heaves and sinks with her golden sighs,

One white breast like a diamond crownet

Couched in a velvet casket glows,

One white arm, tho’ the violets drown it,

Thrills their purple with rose.

Buried in fragrance, the half-moon flashes,

Beautiful, clouded, from head to heel:

One white foot in the warm wave plashes,

Violets tremble and half reveal,

Half conceal, as they kiss, the slender

Slope and curve of her sleeping limbs:

Violets bury one half the splendour

Still, as thro’ heaven, she swims.

Cold as the white rose waking at daybreak

Lifts the light of her lovely face,

Poised on an arm she watches the spray break

Over the slim white ankle's grace,

Watches the wave that sleeplessly tosses

Kissing the pure foot's pink sea-shells,

Watches the long-leaved heaven-dark mosses

Drowning their star-bright bells.

Swift as the Spring where the South has brightened

Earth with bloom in one passionate night,

Swift as the violet heavens had lightened

Swift to perfection, blinding, white,

Dian arose: and Actæon saw her,

Only he since the world began!

Only in dreams could Endymion draw her

Down to the heart of man.

Fair as the dawn upon Himalaya

Anger flashed from her cheek's pure rose,

Alpine peaks at the passage of Maia

Flushed not fair as her breasts’ white snows.

Ah, fair form of the heaven's completeness,

Who shall sing thee or who shall say

Whence that “high perfection of sweetness,”

Perfect to save or slay?

Perfect in beauty, beauty the portal

Here on earth to the world's deep shrine,

Beauty hidden in all things mortal,

Who shall mingle his eyes with thine?

Thou, to whom Life and Death surrender

All earth's forms as to heaven's deep care,

Who shall pierce to thy naked splendour,

Bind his brows with thy hair?

Beauty, perfect in blinding whiteness,

Softly suffused thro’ the world's dark shrouds,

Kindling them all as they pass by her brightness,—

Hills, men, cities,— a pageant of clouds,

She, the unchanging, shepherds their changes,

Bids them mingle and form and flow,

Flowers and flocks and the great hill-ranges

Follow her cry and go.

Swift as the sweet June lightning flashes,

Down she stoops to the purpling pool,

Sudden and swift her white hand dashes

Rainbow mists in his eyes! “Ah, fool!

Hunter,” she cries to the young Actæon,

“Change to the hunted, rise and fly,

Swift ere the wild pack utter its pæan,

Swift for thy hounds draw nigh!”

Lo, as he trembles, the greenwood branches

Dusk his brows with their antlered pride!

Lo, as a stag thrown back on its haunches

Quivers, with velvet nostrils wide,

Lo, he changes! The soft fur darkens

Down to the fetlock's lifted fear!—

Hounds are baying!— he snuffs and hearkens,

“Fly, for the stag is here!”

Swift as he leapt thro’ the ferns, Actæon,

Young Actæon, the lordly stag,

Full and mellow the deep-mouthed pæan

Swelled behind him from crag to crag:

Well he remembered that sweet throat leading,

Wild with terror he raced and strained,

On thro’ the darkness, thorn-swept, bleeding:

Ever they gained and gained!

Death, like a darkling huntsman holloed —

Swift, Actæon!— desire and shame

Leading the pack of the passions followed.

Red jaws frothing with white-hot flame,

Volleying out of the glen, they leapt up,

Snapped and fell short of the foam-flecked thighs...

Inch by terrible inch they crept up,

Shadows with blood-shot eyes.

Still with his great heart bursting asunder

Still thro’ the night he struggled and bled;

Suddenly round him the pack's low thunder

Surged, the hounds that his own hand fed

Fastened in his throat, with red jaws drinking

Deep!— for a moment his antlered pride

Soared o'er their passionate seas, then, sinking,

Fell for the fangs to divide.

Light of beauty, O, perfect in whiteness,

Softly suffused thro’ the years’ dark veils,

Kindling them all as they pass by her brightness,

Filling our hearts with her old-world tales,