“I am the first man to stand on the moon”, he cried,
His voice, cradled in air, to his helmet tied.
And no echo came from the mountains towering high
That reached black and white to the star-strewn sky.
And the dust slid round his feet, none rose
In earthlike cloud as he scraped his toes
On a land where none but he had trod.

“At last we have done it, I and my kind,
We have spanned the ocean of space to find
What men have dreamed of. See! I am here!”
And his eyes flashed a challenge brave and clear
Across the land where none hut he had trod.

But vasty silence wrapped him round,
And airless wastes that knew not sound
Enveloped him in their eternal chill,
Beat through his puny voice and made it still,
And he fled from the land where none but he had trod.

In sombre sleep the moon dreamed on
Unheeding, and the tiny ship was gone,
Tail jets flaring briefly through the dark.
And ’mongst a billion stars its crimson spark
Leapt to boast of a land where once a Man had trod.
H.St.Vincent Beechey.