Not seas, but dark basaltic plains,
No tides but the pulling down of light,
And all misnamed, fanciful poetry
Storying the romance of the night.
Lunar Maria, false seas deceiving men.
Waterless, dry creeks and dusty rilles.
Not, after all, the swells and deeps of women;
Not, in fact, a goddess hidden in the hills.
Send rockets then, and men to mine
The rocks, and organise the sand;
To colonise the goddess moon,
Shove flags into her silver hand.