Classic Poem

How nicely is our solar system spaced!
How orderly the planet movements are!
Aloof, sedate, self-centered, sober-paced,
Each plods its way around the central star.

Far out, far out upon the soundless sea
The derelicts of Cosmos rush and roll —
Star-hulks, that once in flaming panoply
Sailed on the long cruise 'round the ultimate pole.

Rayless they ride, unnumbered ages through,
Titanic hulks — let lesser craft beware!
Should our good ship, with all her quarreling crew,
Ram one of them — ah, what an end were there!

Shattered against a wanderer in space,
Old Earth would pass away in primal fire;
Like moths in flame, the so-called human race
In a great blaze of glory would expire.

A consummation, do I hear you say,
Devoutly to be wished? The prospect cheers.
Alas, that lee shore is so far away
We might not make it in a million years.

Hope tells, through Science, an unflattering tale:
Our lookouts, watching in the quiet night,
Find in our path nor white nor ebon sail.
The void is clear. There's no relief in sight!