Читать книгу The Haunted Computer and the Android Pope - Рэй Брэдбери, Ray Bradbury, Ray Bradbury Philip K. Dick Isaac Asimov - Страница 9

They say that we must falter, fail, and fall away

To all that’s lost;

I say the cost is overmuch

I’d spend us better with our will.

The mills of our machine-made gods grind swift not slow,

I with their lightning-arcs and wild illuminations go

To light a path

Not to the grave but walking on the air

On stairs of weather, cloud, and sky.

I would not doom us with those easy repetitions

Of old kettledrumming dooms

I heard from childhood on in dull, drab,

Ideas long since gone to incestuous

Intellectuals’ rooms …

Where they make litanies of night to scare their souls

And turn from birds and skies and stars

To imitate death moles or morbid beetles ticking death

Which if we let them would dig deep in time and keep

Our flesh in most inconsequent black holes.

That’s not my game,

Nor is the aim of man to stay beneath a stone.

To own the universe, our aim. And never die.

That’s mine, and yours, and yours, and yours,

To shame dumb death, leave Earth to dust, tread moon,

Vault Mars, and win the stars with flame …

Or know the reason why.