THE SUBLIME <br />To stand upon a windy pinnacle, <br />Beneath the infinite blue of the blue noon, <br />And underfoot a valley terrible <br />As that dim gulf, where sense and being swoon <br />When the soul parts; a giant valley strewn <br />With giant rocks; asleep, and vast, and still, <br />And far away. The torrent, which has hewn <br />His pathway through the entrails of the hill, <br />Now crawls along the bottom and anon <br />Lifts up his voice, a muffled tremulous roar, <br />Borne on the wind an instant, and then gone <br />Back to the caverns of the middle air; <br />A voice as of a nation overthrown <br />With beat of drums, when hosts have marched to war.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-part-iv-vita-nova-cvi/
