Classic Poem

The king of day unveiled, when skies are clear,
Thy path assigned may cross his noon-tide face;
Our eyes, awaiting thee, may gauge the space
Which severs thine from his remoter sphere,
And ours from both — how far beyond, and yet how near.
Thee, millions hail; in every distant place
The Star of Love, to each admiring race,
Throughout all times, in thee, united here.
The same, thou reignest in the flushing dawn;
Or sinking in the west at golden eve,
The glad Precursor of a day new-born;
Or hovering o'er the shadowy curtains drawn
Across the path, where late he took his leave;
Glory of age mature, or tender morn.