Rudyard Kipling, Collected Verse of Rudyard Kipling (New York: Doubleday, Page and Company, 1915)

“There is no sense in going further – it’s the edge of cultivation,”

So they said, and I believed it – broke my land and sowed my crop – built my barns and strung my fences in the little border station. Tucked away below the foot hills, where the trails run out and stop.

Until a voice, as bad as Conscience, rang interminable changes,

On one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated – “Something hidden. Go find it. Go and look behind the Ranges — Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!”

So I went, worn out of patience; never told my nearest neighbours; stole away with pack and ponies – left’em drinking in the town and the faith that moveth mountains didn’t seem to help my labours, as I faced the sheer main-ranges, whipping up and leading down.

I remember going crazy. I remember that I knew it.

Got my strength and lost my nightmares. Then I entered on my find.