Over the peaks of huge crags uncreate,
Across the stricken stars' usurped demesne,
Through mutinous vapours to her realms terrene—
Behold she comes, the morn inviolate.
Girdled with fire, radiant of face, elate,
Leaping the lit waves of the steep ravine—
Here first since eldest time the earth hath seen
Her vesture's trail, in heaven articulate.

Say not the world grows old: Behold ere long
Forth from the mountains come the swift and strong
Who scale the heights to greet the deathless day;
And in the abysmal plains the sick and sore
Following their feet shall see the imminent grey
Glad dawn has never breathed o'er earth or shore.