The desert, the mountains, all wild, primordial, untamed.

How I should have loved to have been with you.

Then, perhaps, I should have got hold of my idea." "Your idea ?" "The great poem of the West.

It's that which I want to write.

Oh, to put it all into hexameters; strike the great iron note; sing the vast, terrible song; the song of the People; the forerunners of empire!" Vanamee understood him perfectly.