Classic Poem

Now the sun from the swart plains
Of Æthiopia turns his reins;
Turns his reins of golden light,
That shake away our northern night.
Night is briefer; brief the shade
By her hastening exile made.
Boötes with his heavenly wain
Ploughs not now his way with pain;
Nor do Jove's night-watching stars
Shake so thick their earnest hairs.
Murder, craft, and violence,
With the dark night get them hence;
The gods repose in peace; nor fear
Any giant wanderer.
Haply, as he tends his flock,
Some blithe shepherd on his rock,
When the dewy ground is red
With the peep of Phœbus' head,
Greets the God, and says, ‘O Sun,
This night thou must have slept alone:
No lady by thy side hadst thou,
Or day had not been here by now.’
Dian now delights to see
Her brother come so speedily
Rolling up his wheels of light;
And from her tresses doth undight
Her slenderer beams, and takes her darts
To look in woods for silver harts.
‘Leave, Aurora,’ Phœbus cries,
‘Leave the bed where old age lies:
What imports a bed that cheats thee?
Lo, the Æolian huntsman waits thee,
Waits thee midst the flowery thyme;
Rise, and light thy cheeks with him.’
The golden goddess's sweet face
Lights at once, and comes apace.
Earth meanwhile, more blest than old
Tithonus, casts her ancient mould,
And, restored to youth, desires,
Phœbus, to undergo thy fires;
Desires, and doth deserve; for who
Is fitter to make love unto,
Opening, as she does, a bosom,
Where a thousand luxuries lose 'em,
While she breathes to him she meets
Harvests of Arabian sweets,
And from her delicious mouth
Pours a flood of breathing youth,
Spicy airs with roses mixt,
And a dewy kiss betwixt.
…

The sailor tilts at nights along,
Soothing his rude stars with a song,
And calls the dolphins tenderly
To the surface of the sea