Above all mountains, clouds, and smoking isles,
From one huge base three stately hills arise;
A wall extends from them a thousand miles,
Steep and unbroken, builded to the skies,
Higher than even the gray-winged condor flies;
And compasseth, with rocks and snowy piles
A table land, both wide and wonderful,
And only by that gated pass accessible—
Crossing a frightful plain which the sun scorches,
Which plain is full of chasms and trap-dykes,