English poem
X
by R. D. Blackmore (1825–1900)
Thebes No-Amon, hundred-gated, Every gate could then unfold Cavalry ten thousand, plated, Man and horse, in solid gold.
Glancing back through serried ranges, Vivid as his own phalanges, Every captain might espy Equal host in sculpture vie;
Down Piromid vista gazing, Ten miles back from every gate, He can see that temple blazing, Which the world shall never mate.