Jack Ellyat wondered about things, six days later. The world had come back to its shape. He was well and strong. He had seen the old man with the burnt dreams in his eyes, Who had fallen from something years ago in his youth Or risen from something with an effort too stark; The runaway who had broken the pasture-bars To test the figments of life on a wild stone. You could see the ultimate hardness of that strange stone Cut in his face⁠—but then, there was something else, That came at moments and went, and answered no questions. Had the feel of the stone been worth it, after all? It puzzled Ellyat. He couldn’t figure it out. Going West to get fat acres was common enough, But, once you got the acres, you settled down, You sent your children to school. You put up a fence. When a war came along, you fought on your proper side; You didn’t blast both sides with Mercutio’s curse And hide in a wilderness. The man was all wrong,