I

Come, let us think upon the great that came Our spiritual solar-kings, whose fame Is quenchless in the lands of mental light, High planets in the vast historic game:

Youths from the sky, they came in splendid flight. We hold to them as to our day and night, And by them measure out our moments here, Our greatness, littleness, and wrong and right.

For like the sun, we carry yesteryears Within our wallets: all the ancient fears And scorns and triumphs woven in our cloaks, Our tall plumes bought with some lost race’s tears.

Oh Sun, I wish that all the nations bright You ever looked upon were in my sight, That I had stood up in your royal car With your eye-rays to search out field and height:

To see young David, leading forth his sheep, The Christ Child on the Hill of Nazareth sleep, To watch proud Dante climb the stranger’s stairs, To see the ocean round Columbus leap.

And beauty absolute man’s heart has known In those old hills where the Greek blood was sown, They named you young Apollo in that day And served you well, and loved your chariot-throne.

Would I had looked on Venice in her prime. And long had watched the prayerful Gothic time When Notre Dame arose, a mystery there In wicked good old Paris and its grime!