Here on the agricultural
And poppy-dotted districts of the right-hand slope
Aeneas' thousands occupy his lords
Lighting each other's pipes besides their wheels
Reckon the battle has battles do
Found its own voice, that, presently far off
Blends with the sound of clear bright water as it falls
Over their covert's mossy heights;
A peaceful dust-free place circled by poplar trees,
Good cover and green shade.
Aeneas often sits apart.
He has his mother's face: white skin, green eyes,
A slow, unbroken look. And though there is
A touch to much of satisfaction in his confidence
As with the Prince your eyes incline to him.
Logue's Homer, All Day Permanent Red: War Music Continued, Faber and Faber, 2003.