In the Dolomites

One haughty, precipitous peak, enveloped, embraced in a white cloud.
Hath freed himself from the clasp, and flung the cloud into space ;
A woman, I deem, once loved ! now all uncrowned and degraded,
She lies a white heap dishevelled, not too far from his face.
Later I looked, and lo! at his iron feet she hath grovelled,
The cloud-bride cannot believe she is thrown for ever away !
Hath she not lain in his bosom ? all for the fault of a moment !
The stern crag heeds her not, relentless facing the day.