Their bitter arrows came like hail on us.
Our strongest dropped and died without a blow.
Then, beyond Carrhæ, trusting in our woe,
They turned at last and stood to wait our thrust.
But two things I remember of that fight.
How Publius went out—the burning light
Smote on his armor, turning it to gold,
Save where, a sunset cloud, his red cloak rolled;
And in his face was joy and keen delight,
Youth and a boy’s high heart and great resolves....