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| SAY, from what golden quivers of the sky | |
| Do all thy wingèd arrows fly? | |
| Swiftness and Power by birth are thine: | |
| From thy great sire they came, thy sire, the Word Divine. | |
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| Thou in the Moon’s bright chariot, proud and gay, | 5 |
| Dost thy bright wood of stars survey; | |
| And all the year dost with thee bring | |
| Of thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal spring. | |
| |
| Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands above | |
| The Sun’s gilt tent forever move, | 10 |
| And still, as thou in pomp dost go, | |
| The shining pageants of the world attend thy show. | |
| |
| Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn | |
| The humble glow-worms to adorn, | |
| And with those living spangles gild | 15 |
| (O greatness without pride!) the bushes of the field. | |
| |
| Night and her ugly subjects thou dost fright, | |
| And Sleep, the lazy owl of night; | |
| Ashamed and fearful to appear, | |
| They screen their horrid shapes with the black hemisphere. * * * * * | 20 |
| At thy appearance, Grief itself is said | |
| 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; | 25 |
| The sunshine melts away his cold. | |
| Encouraged at the sight of thee | |
| To the cheek color comes, and firmness to the knee. | |
| |
| When, goddess, thou lift’st up thy wakened head | |
| Out of the morning’s purple bed, | 30 |
| Thy quire of birds about thee play, | |
| And all the joyful world salutes the rising day. | |
| |
| All the world’s bravery, that delights our eyes, | |
| Is but thy several liveries; | |
| Thou the rich dye on them bestow’st, | 35 |
| Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou go’st. | |
| |
| 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. | 40 |
| |
| The violet, Spring’s little infant, stands | |
| Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands; | |
| On the fair tulip thou dost dote; | |
| Thou cloth’st it in a gay and party-colored coat. * * * * * | |
| Through the soft ways of heaven, and air, and sea, | 45 |
| Which open all their pores to thee, | |
| Like a clear river thou dost glide, | |
| And with thy living stream through the close channels slide. * * * * * | |
| But the vast ocean of unbounded day, | |
| In the empyrean heaven does stay. | 50 |
| Thy rivers, lakes, and springs, below, | |
| From thence took first their rise, thither at last must flow. | |
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