John Burgon

By John William Burgon Petra

seems no work of the creative hand of man,
Forged by the work as planned shaky fantasy;
But the rock, as if by magic grown,
eternal, silent, beautiful, alone!
Not virgin-white like the old sanctuary Doric
where erst Athena held her rites divine;
No saint gris, like many a shrine minister
which crowns the hill and consecrates the plain;
But pink-red, as if the blush of dawn,
the first saw them have not yet withdrawn;
The hues of youth on the front of the pain,
the old man known two thousand years ago,
Match me such marvel, save in the climates of the East
half-rose-red city as old as the world.

is to speak of a rose-red city from a rock. A garden? I'm just reading this quickly. This is a sonnet and that kind of poem is built on metaphors: the first 3 verses are metaphors for something. An allusion to the sanctuary of Athena. Allusion to Christ: Crown Hill, spends the plain.

http://www.bookstove.com/Poetry/How-to-R ...