LO! Epidaurus spreads his velvet vale, Sacred to health, renowned in classic tale. Here sprang that sage a precious balm who drew From every sweet-lipped flower which drinks the dew: Ay, doubt not, -- symbols, scattered stones remain, -- Rose in this glen the healer's worshipped fane. Weak age, sick beauty, youth with broken powers, From distant climes came pilgrims to these bowers, Fain to escape the grim destroyer, Death, To pray, to hope, the boon of added breath; For then, as now, man shrank to tread the shore Where all is peace, and sorrow comes no more, Where souls shall spring to new immortal birth, Endued with powers ne'er known on lower earth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH IN A CHURCH-YARD IN CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA by AMY LOWELL GUNS AS KEYS: AND THE GREAT GATE SWINGS by AMY LOWELL THE SONG OF THE SHEPHERDS by EDWIN MARKHAM DRAW THE SWORD, O REPUBLIC by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MANY SOLDIERS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS OCTAVES: 12 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON ESSAY: AT NIGHT THE AUTOPORTRAIT AT NIGHT by ELENI SIKELIANOS |