Though he now breathed full steadiness of sleep Under his color print of Gawain questing, His windowshade was high, his telescope Stood at an angle, pointing toward some star. The star had already moved, I could not find it, And I would not ask him what he might have seen. I begin not to know him quite so completely; His eyes hold some faint glint from his own star, Which I was too late to see. I know he would rescue The dinosaurs from cruel thoroughness Of death that began such a long time ago; He has told me they still feed on his star. He watched in the dark while you and I were talking. Is it not possible he means to exchange His space helmet, once it has got him there, For that older helmet, and ride away on his star?