Swept her long tresses of the wreathing cloud,
With white peaks flashing through their tangled curls,
Like jewels crushed in the disheveled hair
Of maniac beauty, in some gentle hour
Of quiet sadness; and more faintly still,
Gleamed through the shadows at the mountain’s base,
Where smiling valleys dimpled Nature’s cheek,
And laughing meadows cradled singing streams.
On Horeb’s mount a holy man of God
Stood forth to view the fragrant strife of morn,