Ambitious of the sky,
They feather o'er the steepest edge
Of mountains mushroom-high.
Oh, God of marvels! who can tell
What myriad living things
On these gray stones unseen may dwell!
What nations, with their kings!
I feel no shock, I hear no groan,
While fate, perchance, o'erwhelms
Empires on this subverted stone—