A HUNDRED miles of landscape spread before me like a fan; Hills behind naked hills, bronze light of evening on them shed; How many thousand ages have these summits spied on man? How many thousand times shall I look on them ere this fire in me is dead? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH: IN OBITUM M.S. XO MAIJ, 1614 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE ARAB by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY A LITTLE DUTCH GARDEN by HARRIET WHITNEY DURBIN THE WIND by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE CHAMBER by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH HER EYES by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON REMARKS ON A PAMPHLET ENTITLED, EPISTLES TO THE GREAT by JOHN BYROM |