The Great Khan

 In Old Town Xan did the Great Khan
 A pomp-filled dome of vice have made:
 Where Alph, the most pure stream, had ran
 Through caves which are not marked by man
   Down to a sea sans days.
 So twice five miles of good farm ground
 With walls and spires were all wrapped round:
 And there were herb plots bright with snake-like rills,
 Where bloomed all of those nice scent trees;
 And here were woods as old as the hills,
 With folds where sun shines on the green.

 But oh! that deep, oft sung of ditch which slants
 Down the green hill and through a pine tree stand!
 A wild place! as god-filled and spell-bound
 As one where in the wan moon's light now haunts
 A girl who wails loud for her love from hell!
 And from that ditch, where roils don't cease to seeth,
 As if this earth in fast thick pants could breathe,
 A strong jet for a sec was forced:
 And in that swift half-there, half-not-there burst
 Huge shards jumped up like ground-bounced hail,
 Or chaff-filled grain threshed by the flail:
 And with those rocks which danced for all of time
 It flung up for a sec that most pure stream.
 Five miles it wound all round its maze-like way,
 Through wood and dale the pure stream ran
 Then reached the caves not marked by man,
 And sank with lots of noise to that dead bay:
 And in this noise the Great Khan heard from far
 His dead folks' ghosts speak words of war!
   The shade from this large dome of toys
   Floats in the midst of waves;
   Where once was heard the mixed-up noise
   From both the jets and caves.
 It was a rare deed made for vice,
 A sun-filled dome with caves of ice!

   A young girl with a lute
   I thought once that I saw:
   It was an south-land maid
   And on her lute she played,
   And sang of her home's Mount.
   Could I bring it back in me,
   Her string band work and song,
   To such deep joy it'd win me,
 That with that tune so loud and long,
 I would build that dome in air,
 That sun-filled dome! those caves of ice!
 And all who heard should see them there,
 And all should cry, Look out! Look out!
 His eyes, they flash! his hair, it floats!
 Weave charms on him three times all round,
 And close your eyes in god-filled dread
 For he hath on the gods' food fed,
 And drunk the milk of God's own land.

                                -- Sam Col's Ridge