"Ballade of an Artificial Satellite" by Poul Anderson
Just came across this poem, and I'm stashing it here so I know where to find it later.
One inland summer I walked through rye, A wind at my heels that smelled of rain And harried white clouds through the whistling sky Where the great Sun stalked and shook his mane And roared so brightly across the grain It burned and shimmered like alien sands; Ten years old, I saw down a lane The thunderous light on Wonderstrands.
In ages before the world ran dry What might the mapless not contain? Atlantis gleamed like a dream to die; Avalon lay under faerie reign; Cibola guarded a golden plain; Tir-Na-Nog was fair-locked Fand's; Sober men saw from a gull's-road wain The thunderous light on Wonderstrands.
Such clanging countries in cloudland lie; But men grew weary and they grew sane And they grew grown - and so did I - And knew Tartessus was only Spain. No galleons call at Taprobane (Ceylon, with English), no queenly hands Wear gold from Punt, nor sees the Dane The thunderous light on Wonderstrands.
Ahoy Prince Andros, horizon's-bane! They always wait, the elven lands; An evening planet gives again The thunderous light on Wonderstrands.