Poems About Sun

"Good morrow, my lord!" in the sky alone,Sang the lark, as the sun ascended his throne."Shine on me, my lord; I only am come,Of all your servants, to welcome you home.I have flown right up, a whole hour, I swear,To catch the first shine of your golden hair."

"Must I thank you, then," said the king, "Sir Lark,For flying so high and hating the dark?You ask a full cup for half a thirst:Half was love of me, and half love to be first.There's many a bird makes no such haste,But waits till I come: that's as much to my taste."

Angel, king of streaming morn;Cherub, call’d by Heav’n to shine;T’ orient tread the waste forlorn;Guide ætherial, pow’r divine; Thou, Lord of all within!

Golden spirit, lamp of day,Host, that dips in blood the plain,Bids the crimson’d mead be gay,Bids the green blood burst the vein; Thou, Lord of all within!

Soul, that wraps the globe in light;Spirit, beckoning to arise;Drives the frowning brow of night,Glory bursting o’er the skies; Thou, Lord of all within!

The sun rises bright in France, And fair sets he;But he has tint the blythe blink he had In my ain countree.

O, it’s nae my ain ruin That saddens aye my e’e,But the dear Marie I left behin’ Wi’ sweet bairnies three.

My lanely hearth burn’d bonnie, And smiled my ain Marie;I’ve left a’ my heart behin’ In my ain countree.

The bud comes back to summer, And the blossom to the bee;But I’ll win back, O never, To my ain countree.

O, I am leal to high Heaven, Where soon I hope to be,An’ there I’ll meet ye a’ soon Frae my ain countree!

'T is an old dial, dark with many a stain; In summer crowned with drifting orchard bloom,Tricked in the autumn with the yellow rain, And white in winter like a marble tomb.

And round about its gray, time-eaten brow Lean letters speak,--a worn and shattered row:=I am a Shade; a Shadowe too art thou: I marke the Time: saye, Gossip, dost thou soe?=

Here would the ring-doves linger, head to head; And here the snail a silver course would run,Beating old Time; and here the peacock spread His gold-green glory, shutting out the sun.

THE summer sun shone round me, The folded valley layIn a stream of sun and odour, That sultry summer day.

The tall trees stood in the sunlight As still as still could be,But the deep grass sighed and rustled And bowed and beckoned me.

The deep grass moved and whispered And bowed and brushed my face.It whispered in the sunshine: “The winter comes apace.”

The sun is not a-bed, when IAt night upon my pillow lie;Still round the earth his way he takes,And morning after morning makes.

While here at home, in shining day,We round the sunny garden play,Each little Indian sleepy-headIs being kissed and put to bed.

And when at eve I rise from tea,Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea;And all the children in the westAre getting up and being dressed.

WHEN the sun comes after rain And the bird is in the blue,The girls go down the lane Two by two.

When the sun comes after shadow And the singing of the showers,The girls go up the meadow, Fair as flowers.

When the eve comes dusky red And the moon succeeds the sun,The girls go home to bed One by one.

And when life draws to its even And the day of man is past,They shall all go home to heaven, Home at last.

Persian, you riseAflame from climes of sacrifice Where adulators sue,And prostrate man, with brow abased,Adheres to rites whose tenor traced All worship hitherto.

Arch type of sway,Meetly your over-ruling ray You fling from Asia’s plain,Whence flashed the javelins abroadOf many a wild incursive horde Led by some shepherd Cain.

I DREW the letter out, while gleamedThe sloping sun from under a roofOf cloud whose verge rose visibly.

The burning ball flung rays that seemedStretched like a warp without a woofAcross the levels of the lea

To where I stood, and where they beamedAs brightly on the page of proofThat she had shown her false to me

As if it had shown her true—had teemedWith passionate thought for my behoofExpressed with their own ardency!

THE sun threw down a radiant spot On the face in the winding-sheet— The face it had lit when a babe’s in its cot; And the sun knew not, and the face knew not That soon they would no more meet.

Now that the grave has shut its door, And lets not in one ray, Do they wonder that they meet no more— That face and its beaming visitor— That met so many a day?

December 1915.

O well for him that loves the sunThat sees the heaven-race ridden or run,The splashing seas of sunset won, And shouts for victory.

God made the sun to crown his head,And when death's dart at last is sped,At least it will not find him dead, And pass the carrion by.

O ill for him that loves the sun;Shall the sun stoop for anyone?Shall the sun weep for hearts undone Or heavy souls that pray?

Not less for us and everyoneWas that white web of splendour spun;O well for him who loves the sun Although the sun should slay.

This early Morning,This earliest Dawning,Behold the Youth,Streaked with flaming red,Wearing in his hair a waving feather,Into the Sky ascending!

Upon me,Standing alone where the World is--Upon me comes the shining of his Ray.

I, too, shall be ruddy with new life!I, too, shall wear in my hair the eagle’s plume!This day shall be fulfilled with accomplishment;Valiantly I shall ascend into the Sky!

Upon the blue mountain I stood,Upon the mountain as he sank into the Rivers of Night:The camps of the clouds in the heavens were shining with evening fires, many-colored,And the pools on the plain below gleamed with many reflections:All things were made precious with the Day’s last ray.

Farewell, my Father, the Shining One!Farewell, whither thou goest,Like an aged chieftain adorned with the splendors of many deeds!Thou dost touch the world with many reflections,With parting injunctions many----Thy thought thou hast given us.

Hail glorious Sun! bright regent of the day;Gladly I welcome thine all cheering ray:'Midst frost and snow, a visit thus from thee,Sets each numb toe and frozen finger free!

Bright emblem of the Majesty on high,Who lives and reigns, the Lord of earth and sky!Before thy face the hailstones melt away,And thy glad light turns darkness into day.

Oft moving down the sloping dale I've eyed,Thy golden radiance from the mountain side;Have often long'd upon yon hills to be,To catch a comfortable ray from thee.