The Spell of Egypt by Robert Hichens — Read

On the way to the tombs of the kings I went to the temple of Kurna, / that lonely cenotaph, with its sand-colored massive facade, its heaps / of fallen stone, its wide and ruined doorway, its thick, almost rough, / columns recalling Medinet-Abu. There is not very much to see, but from / there one has a fine view of other temples -- of the Ramesseum, looking / superb, like a grand skeleton; of Medinet-Abu, distant, very pale gold / in the morning sunlight; of little Deir-al-Medinet, the pretty child of / the Ptolemies, with the heads of the seven Hathors. And from Kurna the / Colossi are exceptionally grand and exceptionally personal, so personal / that one imagines one sees the expressions of the faces that they no / longer possess.

Even if you do not go into the tombs -- but you will go -- you must ride / to the tombs of the kings; and you must, if you care for the finesse of / impressions, ride on a blazing day and toward the hour of noon. Then the / ravine is itself, like the great act that demonstrates a temperament. / It is the narrow home of fire, hemmed in by brilliant colors, nearly / all -- perhaps quite all -- of which could be found in a glowing furnace. / Every shade of yellow is there -- lemon yellow, sulphur yellow, the yellow / of amber, the yellow of orange with its tendency toward red, the yellow / of gold, sand color, sun color. Cannot all these yellows be found in a / fire? And there are the reds -- pink of the carnation, pink of the coral, / red of the little rose that grows in certain places of sands, red of / the bright flame's heart. And all these colors are mingled in complete / sterility. And all are fused into a fierce brotherhood by the sun. and / like a flood, they seem flowing to the red and the yellow mountains, / like a flood that is flowing to its sea. You are taken by them toward / the mountains, on and on, till the world is closing in, and you know the / way must come to an end. And it comes to an end -- in a tomb.