The following verse is from "Cosmic
Carols" published 1957.
Moon-Song
by Robert W. Service
1957
Moon Song
The sky is like a vasty cup
Of violet, and staring up,
Plumb in the middle like a spoon
Of silver I behold the moon.
It looks so cute, so cool, so calm,
As if id did not care a damn
For human worms the likes of us, -
I really don't suppose it does.
"Alas, poor man!" it seems to say;
"Alack, the hapless human race!
Frail creatures of an empty day,
Who come and go and leave no trace!
I knew your world before you were;
I'll know it when you cease to be;
And by my scorn you may infer
My sense of your futility."
Then to the moon I made reply:
"Of course I see your point of view,
Just now you dominate the sky,
But one day we'll be boss of you.
We scan you through a mighty glass,
Of your geography, recorders,
And one day it will come to pass
We'll run excursions to your boarders.
"Yes, Mister Moon, you've got us right,
And yet I think you will agree,
Our transitoriness despite,
That clever little brutes are we,
We may be vapid, vague and vain;
Our species may be doomed to cease . . .
Yes, Moon, salute the human brain,
Creation's masterpiece!
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