In An Argentinean Plain

In an Argentinean plain In Patagonia saw I Old bearded Prometheus Amidst that beauty of the wild Those arcane stones of Periods geological Not just of centuries And the high winds That over the plains swept From the echoing distant of The Ocean roar: There was a night-moon That was beginning To shine as on a British moor But here there was rock Just rock all way the eye Took. And here the wind neighed Its own sad tune heart-broken Particular Its distinct accent and its Trademark seal, it sung. Roamed listless and Without direction the Old and bearded man Now half bent in the Winds of the wild beauties Raw be beautiful though Raw be wild. And Thus In an Argentinean plain In Patagonia saw I Old bearded Prometheus Amidst that beauty of the wild