“There’s no use in going farther, it’s the edge of cultivation.”
So they said and I believed it; broke my ground and sowed my crop
Built my barns and strung my fences in a little border station
Hid away beneath the foothills where the trails run out and stop.
But a voice as clear as conscience rang in terminable changes
On one everlasting whisper, day and night -repeated —so
“Something out there, something hidden—GO and look behind the ranges!
Something lost behind the ranges—Lost and waiting for you—GO!”
Rudyard Kipling, “Go!”