Classic Poem

At dusk as wild geese winged their aery way
Upon the sunset over proud Peking,
To where, darker than jade, the mountains lay,
Set in the misty gold of dying day,
I stood upon the mighty Tartar wall
By the great-towered gate, the Ch'en, and felt
The yellow myriads move to it and melt,
As in some opiate sleep's imagining.
And slowly through there came a caravan
Of swinging camels out of far Thibet,
Upon their tawny flanks the foam still wet
And in their eyes the desert's ancient span.
What dreams they bore to me I now forget,
But through me rang the name of Kubla Khan.