Classic Poem

"Most wondrous vision! The broad earth hath not,
Through all her bounds, an object like to thee,
That travellers e'er recorded. Nor a spot
More fit to stir the poet's phantasy;
Grey Old Man of the Mountain, awfully
There, from thy wreath of clouds thou dost uprear
Those features grand,--the same eternally!
Lone dweller 'mid the hills! with gaze austere
Thou lookest down, methinks, on all below thee here."