Their host then spoke again, this time
To ask a question that might well offend:
	“O trav’lers four, if I may ask,
What vision do you make of paradise?”
	The four then stopped, as if to make
A plan of speech--all silent till at last
	One spoke: the man who journeyed east,
Out of a land of fire, as dry as dust,
	Where fire rained down upon the heads
Of men, and Worroth reigned supreme. To this:
	“O kindest host, my paradise
Is where the warm rain falls out of the sky,
	The ”