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| THOU in the moon’s bright chariot proud and gay | |
| Dost thy bright wood of stars survey; | |
| And all the year dost with thee bring | |
| Of thousand flow’ry lights thine own nocturnal spring. | |
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| Thou Scythian-like dost round thy lands above | 5 |
| The sun’s gilt tent for ever move, | |
| And still as thou in pomp dost go | |
| The shining pageants of the world attend thy show. | |
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| Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn | |
| The humble glow-worms to adorn, | 10 |
| And with those living spangles gild | |
| (O greatness without pride!) the bushes of the field. | |
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| Night, and her ugly subjects thou dost fright, | |
| And sleep, the lazy owl of night; | |
| Ashamed and fearful to appear | 15 |
| They screen their horrid shapes with the black hemisphere. | |
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| With them there hastes, and wildly takes the alarm, | |
| Of painted dreams a busy swarm, | |
| At the first opening of thine eye, | |
| The various clusters break, the antic atoms fly. | 20 |
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| The guilty serpents, and obscener beasts, | |
| Creep conscious to their secret rests: | |
| Nature to thee does reverence pay, | |
| Ill omens and ill sights removes out of thy way. | |
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| At thy appearance, grief itself is said | 25 |
| To shake his wings, and rouse his head, | |
| And cloudy care has often took | |
| A gentle beamy smile reflected from thy look. | |
| |
| At thy appearance, fear itself grows bold; | |
| Thy sunshine melts away his cold. | 30 |
| Encourag’d at the sight of thee, | |
| To the cheek colour comes, and firmness to the knee. | |
| |
| When, goddess, thou lift’st up thy waken’d head | |
| Out of the morning’s purple bed, | |
| Thy quire of birds about thee play, | 35 |
| And all the joyful world salutes the rising day. | |
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| All the world’s bravery that delights our eyes | |
| Is but thy sev’ral liveries, | |
| Thou the rich dye on them bestowest, | |
| Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou goest. | 40 |
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| A crimson garment in the rose thou wear’st; | |
| A crown of studded gold thou bear’st, | |
| The virgin lilies in their white, | |
| Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light! | |
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