Petra



It seems no work of Man's creative hand,
by labour wrought as wavering fancy planned;


But from the rock as if by magic grown,
eternal, silent, beautiful, alone!


Not virgin-white like that old Doric shrine,
where erst Athena held her rites divine;


Not saintly-grey, like many a minster fane,
that crowns the hill and consecrates the plain;


But rose-red as if the blush of dawn,
that first beheld them were not yet withdrawn;


The hues of youth upon a brow of woe,
which Man deemed old two thousand years ago,


match me such marvel save in Eastern clime,
a rose-red city half as old as time.



John William Burgon


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Jeśli zmierzamy
we właściwym kierunku
wszystko, co musimy robić,
to jedynie iść naprzód.

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By: Linnn