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 minster 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that first beheld them were not yet withdrawn;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 hues 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.
John William Burgon
Gorgeous shot and poem.
I do wish that the Taliban had not Howitzered the similar Buddhist caves and shrines in Afghanistan.
Great photo. The hat and glasses of the man in shadow gives the illusion of an earlier age. & the use of b&w. Its a magical place Petra. I never tire of seeing it.