Their graceful branches, slowly swayed, majestically calm.
The day declined in Egypt, and the sun had sought the west,
Where, like a king whose destiny was done, he sunk to rest,
While palace, dome, and pyramid, gleamed with celestial fire,
And heaven’s burnished battlements, glowed like a funeral pyre.
But in the zenith of the sky, transparent clouds, and white,
Rolled hurriedly athwart the blue, their billowy zones of light,
And parting in translucent waves, as the sea was doomed to do,
A throng of white-winged angels, swept that gate of glory through.
The day declined in Egypt, and an old man looked his last