Poems (Campbell)/To the Sun
For works with similar titles, see To the Sun.
TO THE SUN.
Thou lovely orb, whose golden beam,In floods of glory, shines supreme,—Once could I view, with raptur'd glance,The circling seasons round thee dance,Could own the joy that nature felt,And feel my soul in rapture melt.
But now, sad change! I fly thy light,And plunge amid the shades of night;Or, if thy soul-enliv'ning rayUpon my weary eyelids-play,'Tis only to increase the pain,The burning fever in my brain.
But soon this scene of sorrow o'er,My bursting heart shall feel no more;Soon shall thy lovely beam be shedUpon my dark, cold, narrow bed,And all that lives beneath thy lightBe shut for ever from my sight.