Of dust in a shaft of light, now sharp and black
Over a blood-red sandstone precipice.
“Look!”
The Indian guide thrust out a lean dark hand
That hid a hundred forests, and pointed to it,
Muttering low, “Big Eagle!”
All that day,
Riding along the brink, we found no end.
Still, on the right, the pageant of the Abyss
Unfolded. There gigantic walls of rock,