The book of earth

by Alfred Noyes

While from their own deep chasms of shadow, that seemed

Small inch-wide rings of darkness round them, rose

Tabular foothills, mesas, hard and bright,

Bevelled and flat, like gems; or, softly bloomed

Like alabaster, stained with lucid wine;

Then slowly changed, under the changing clouds,

Where the light sharpened, into monstrous tombs

Of trap-rock, hornblende, greenstone and basalt.

There,—under isles of pine, washed round with mist,

Dark isles that seemed to sail through heaven, and cliffs