Looking out to sea

In the eminence of emerald drifts the idea of
Menelaus leaving Crete,
With the power of Mycenae
Crusted on his feet
And venomous blood
Surging those bronzed pectorals
Of a thwarted youth.
And woe betide the bold Paris
And his bride, stolen or otherwise -
Conjecture,
But so devised as to create a war,
So terrible,
So prolonged
That ten years passed and heroes lost
Before they saw their brave Prince home,
Wearily to Sparta come
With the fair Helen
So unhappy won.