Nothing but scarlet sand and brassy sky,
And men aghast at signs traced on the ground,
A ring of white, scared faces, without sound.
Then afterwards, there came that burning march
Under a sky of flame, continually.
Our very armor seemed to shrink and parch
Beneath that sun; our tongues grew swelled and black;
And ever circling, circling, front and back,
The Parthians galloped in a cloud of dust.
They would not turn and fight but slew us thus.