The onward faces of swift journeying men,
Keen with the life of some large Iliad.
Now—for our heads are stricken, our lives are
As flowers sodden in the winter rain—
We, who alive are dead—and whether far
Beyond the snows are blissful births of pain,
Or Rome, or Caesar, we know not—we say,
"There is one way of life, the Roman Way."