Winter maketh white the mountains.
I behold the deep waters in their cavernous mists;
I am the sentinel whom none cometh to relieve;
I look forth upon the coming of the night,
And upon the coming of the dawn
I behold the lifting of the mists,
I behold the terror of the sea,
With the immense dreaming of Colossus.
And last speaks the Pyramid of Cheops:
The desert, spread like a table, lieth beneath my foundations.