Set the survivor of the Splendid Four
Coldly aside; wearing the iron crown,
Won for his wearing 'midst red battle's roar,
Jauntily, and the blade you sharpened bore
With cool complacent pride
As though his own hands bound it to his side.
And now he comes like Mars amidst his ranks,
And brings—belated thanks!
What thinks the ancient Sword-smith in his soul?
Like the old scholar, sick with long neglect,