Like snow-white tents, their tapering forms
Indent the western sky:
The jewelled gifts of countless storms
Upon their summits lie.

The sinking moon, with fading scars,
Hath touched their frosty spires;
Around them pale the wearied stars,
Like waning bivouac fires.

Stray cloudlets, reddening one by one,
Like rose leaves half unfurled,
Announce the coming of the sun
To an awakening world.

The chief peak now hath caught the glow,
And, soft, o'er sloping walls
And buttresses of dazzling snow,
The flood of splendor falls;

While miles of tender pink and gold
Incrust the blue of space,
And bands of amethyst enfold
Each mountain's massive base.

Gone are the tents that pierced the skies;
But in their place, more fair,
Transfigured flowers of Paradise
Bloom in the crystal air.