 | Poems |  |
76
MARS.
Now Mars steals over the water;
He is marching down from the sky—
Great Mars with his golden helmet
And the golden flame in his eye.
He is marching down from the sky—
Great Mars with his golden helmet
And the golden flame in his eye.
The sea is still, for the ripples
Are hushed at the god's slow tread;
And a line of light is trailing
The wave like a burning thread.
Are hushed at the god's slow tread;
And a line of light is trailing
The wave like a burning thread.
Sad Mars! he is wearied with marching,
And wandering off is he,
While he nods his yellow helmet
And thrusts his lance in the sea.
And wandering off is he,
While he nods his yellow helmet
And thrusts his lance in the sea.
Faltering Mars! with his marching
Wearied he seems to be;
While he tips his helmet and merges
His golden lance in the sea.
Wearied he seems to be;
While he tips his helmet and merges
His golden lance in the sea.
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