Talking and walking, dancing and playing airs
On every instrument that man’s skill prepares
All through a little machine, run by a wheel;
And electric apparatus he did conceal,
From watching eyes his invention might steal.
And, there’s Marconi, flashing across land and sea
His messages of glad tidings without wires on tree,
Or pole, and nothing to guide his machine,
So far as any one has yet seen.
If such men had appeared in the olden day,