Sun, Sunrise and Sunset

Sunset and evening star,

 

Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day

 

Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,

 

The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do.

Can flowers but droop in absence of the sun, Which waked their sweets?

MY SUN SETS TO RISE AGAIN.

Then, rising with Aurora’s light,

So when the sun in bed,

So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,

Rosy-fingered dawn.

The Sun’s rim dips; the stars rush out;

In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly,

The year’s at the spring

In the sun that is young once only, Golden in the mercy of his means.

I have seen the sunset, stained with mystic horrors, Illumine the rolling waves with long purple forms, Like actors in ancient plays. 7

I’ll tell you how the Sun rose— A Ribbon at a time—

Blazing in Gold and quenching in Purple Leaping like Leopards to the Sky… And the Juggler of Day is gone.

Inebriate of Air—am I— And Debauchee of Dew— Reeling—through endless summer days— From inns of Molten Blue—

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats— And Saints—to windows run— To see the little Tippler Leaning against the—Sun—

Give me the splendid silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling.

Round the cape of a sudden came the sea, And the sun looked over the mountain’s rim: And straight was a path of gold for him, And the need of a world of men for me.

Morn, Wak’d by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarr’d the gates of light.

Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice morn on th’ Indian steep, From her cabin’d loophole peep.

And the gilded car of day, His glowing axle doth allay In the steep Atlantic stream.