“It seems no work of Man`s creative hand, by labour wrought as wavering fancy planned;
But from the rock as if by magic grown, eternal, silent, beautiful, alone!
Not virgin-white like that old Doric shrine, where erst Athena held her rites divine;
Not saintly-grey, like many a minister fane, that crowns the hill and consecrates the plain;
But rose-red as if the blush of dawn, that first beheld them were not yet withdrawn;
The rules of youth upon a brow of woe, which Man deemed old two thousand years ago, match me such marvel save in Eastern clime,
a rose-red city half as old as time.”
Petra by John W. Burgon
