And gone up to the high places they had
Wood and stone and iron to pry and go mad
A ladder, a stair to find their way there
To take the apple of their eye to care
Lovers of silver! Behold and beware.
But turned back, turned back whence we came
The new story and the old one the same
As the small places emptied out of life
Soon the hot sword, the Doctor's knife
Would fill them again, rustic and rife.
And here an image so strange is conjured
In it our fears, our worries abjured?
For each of us return, are made of earth
Out-steps of ship, man of Martian birth
What of such ones, shall guess we their worth?
A strange land indeed, for sojourners all,
Will with this sight the heart so appall?
Nay, suppose I rather the red-earth man then
Would be greeted with kiss, embraced and so when
He go, then also, be turned back again.