I'm a place where you view through the lens of the past. History lovers tend to have a blast. Where art lovers can nurture their inner critic, As they stand before each old painting and relic.

Raised to honor someone momentous, I stand where all may look and adore

I swallow rivers, vast and deep, My layered walls, ancient secrets keep. What am I, where echoes sleep?

It has three hundred sixty-eight wheels, one hundred eighty-four bars, and is three thousand three hundred thirty-three kilometers long.

Where iron binds and hope wears thin, a place where few escape once in.