Sun--begotten, ocean--born,
Sparkling in the summer morn
Underneath me as I pass
O'er the hill--top on the grass,
All among thy fellow--drops
On the speary herbage tops,
Round, and bright, and warm, and still,
Over all the northern hill;--
Who may be so blest as thee,
Of the sons of men that be?
Evermore thou dost behold
All the sunset bathed in gold;
Then thou listenest all night long
To the leaves' faint undersong
From two tall dark elms, that rise
Up against the silent skies:
Evermore thou drink'st the stream
Of the chaste moon's purest beam;
Evermore thou dost espy
Every star that twinkles by;
Till thou hearest the cock crow
From the barton far below;
Till thou seest the dawn--streak
From the eastern night--clouds break;
Till the mighty king of light
Lifts his unsoiled visage bright,
And his speckled flocks has driven
To batten in the fields of heaven;
Then thou lightest up thy breast
With the lamp thou lovest best;
Many rays of one thou makest,
Giving three for one thou takest;
Love and constancy's best blue,
Sunny warmth of golden hue,
Glowing red, to speak thereby
Thine affection's ardency:--
Thus rejoicing in his sight,
Made a creature of his light,
Thou art all content to be
Lost in his immensity;
And the best that can be said,
When they ask why thou art fled,
Is, that thou art gone to share
With him the empire of the air.