III. Discovery

When in the long slow years of humankind
Reaching to surpass what others have made
Have any ever risen so in mind?
— Far less in body? Not those who for trade
Or conquest traveled far: past glories dim
Compared to this quest, for progress alive
To bless the living. Hark! We chant the hymn,
T-minus: “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five!”
Until the final benisons, half-drowned
In waves louder than beat about the prow
Of navigator's ship, again resound:
“We have lift-off!” — our exaltation now
Divine.
[..........]— Do you not hear the laughter fade
Of Daedalus’, Icarus’, Phaeton’s shade?