Actaeon breaks another taboo. He has no alternative, as before, and no further story, except, perhaps, that he will be forced (by loneliness or ill-health) to get to know this nakedness more intimately. His body may be a Newfoundland, but it's one which can be greeted only with irony. He's not even a stag any more.
[by George Szirtes]
O, my America, my Newfoundland
John Donne, "Elegy 20"
O, my America, discovered by slim chance,
from Carol Rumens: The Guardian: Poem of the week: Poem of the week: Actaeon by George Szirtes