I
“HAVE you ever played on a violin
Larger than ten thousand stars
And warmer than what you call sin?”
Torban, a young man from Mars,
Gave me the stretch of his voice,
And my “no” fell down like a pin
On the echoed din of his words.
He said: “Then I have no choice.
I must use the barrenly involved
Words with which you have not solved
The wistful riddles of your days.
Leave the pale and ruddy herds
Of men, with their surrendering ways,
And come with me to Mars.”