To those exalted sons of Greece and Rome, Whose fearless gaze was fix'd upon the sky,— Who view'd the mirror'd heavens as Man's far home, Held Death but as a friend that lingereth nigh To still the throbbing brain, the tortured cry,— We owe the first conception of our God: They strew'd with palms the path which Jesus trod. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DAVIS MATLOCK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SMALL COUNTRIES by JAMES GALVIN EVERYBODY KNOWS by DAVID IGNATOW DOMESDAY BOOK: THE VERDICT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE ROOM OF MIRRORS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |