Classic Poem

But they are there, though man may never know
Their number or their beauty. Pass the eye
Along the ever-looming scene, where'er we go,
Through these long corridors of rock and sky —
What startling barriers, rising sullenly
From the dark deeps, like giants, seem to place
An adamantine gateway, close and high,
To bar our progress; meet them face to face,
The magic doors fly open, and the rocks recede apace.