She bears her in her high estate with an imperial grace;
All gorgeous glows with orient gold the broidery of her vest;
With precious stones its purple fold is clasped upon her breast;
She gazes from her lattice forth. What sees the lady there?
A strange, wild beauty crowns the scene,—but she has other care!
Far off fair Moab’s emerald slopes, and Jordan’s lovely vale;
And nearer,—heights where fleetest foot of wild gazelle would fail;
While crowning every verdant ridge, like drifts of moonlit snow,
Rich palaces and temples rise, around, above, below,
Gleaming thro’ groves of terebinth, of palm, and sycamore,