The moon, in the imaginings of some, plays magic with men's minds, as it does with the wine-dark sea. It is the object of the hound's howl, the songsmith's loony tunes, the lover's gauzy dreams. But the moon itself is above all this, steadfastly gliding on its course, turning little more than half its surface to earth,* a safe 238,800 miles beyond the poets' and peasants' overtures. But not for long; last week, in one of the most extraordinary state documents ever issued by the White House, the U.S. announced plans for a look at the moon by automated rockets that...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
