The Retirement of Mars

He pauses on his way, and gazing back
across the desert ways of splintered steel
recalls the noon, and sees his weary track,
and sees the bloody imprint of his heel.
A Mars long tired he stands-a noble Mars!
Stiff with the staggering day, and fields hard won.
His bruised helm is glittering with scars
that gleam afar and spy the setting sun.
With red plumes doffed and foe-revering face
he moves adroop, to seek the sea, the waves,
to seek the sighing winds, the shades of space,
and rest his heart within Twilight Caves.
The dazzling axe is deep, its lord abed.
The dead are lying with the friendly dead!