Alfonso ChurchillThey laughed at me as “Prof. Moon,”As a boy in Spoon River, born with the thirstOf knowing about the stars.They jeered when I spoke of the lunar mountains,And the thrilling heat and cold,And the ebon valleys by silver peaks,And Spica quadrillions of miles away,And the littleness of man.But now that my grave is honored, friends,Let it not be because I taughtThe lore of the stars in Knox College,But rather for this: that through the starsI preached the greatness of man,Who is none the less a part of the scheme of thingsFor the distance of Spica or the Spiral Nebulae;Nor any the less a part of the questionOf what the drama means.
They laughed at me as “Prof. Moon,”As a boy in Spoon River, born with the thirstOf knowing about the stars.They jeered when I spoke of the lunar mountains,And the thrilling heat and cold,And the ebon valleys by silver peaks,And Spica quadrillions of miles away,And the littleness of man.But now that my grave is honored, friends,Let it not be because I taughtThe lore of the stars in Knox College,But rather for this: that through the starsI preached the greatness of man,Who is none the less a part of the scheme of thingsFor the distance of Spica or the Spiral Nebulae;Nor any the less a part of the questionOf what the drama means.