This very day, Great Mars,
I traverse thy desolate plains.
and wander lonely as a cloud,
bereft of darkened rains.
How many weary steps
upon rusted soil o'ergone.
How far the travels
from Man's first dawn.
If sight could sing,
o what composeth the eyes,
both rejoice the splendor
whence songs arise.
Great Mars, what majestic secrets
unrevealed still,
What mysteries doth
thou shroud yonder hill?
O spark of life that
struggles to be free,
on Earth fertile cresent,
why should this a desert be?
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