Poems (Cook)/Song of the Sun

by Eliza Cook

SONG OF THE SUN.

Supreme of the sky—no throne so high—
 I reign a monarch divine;
What have ye below that doth not owe
 Its glory and lustre to mine?
Has Beauty a charm I have not helped.
 To nurture in freshness and bloom?
Can a tint be spread—can a glance be shed.
 Like those I deign to illume?
Though ye mimic my beams, as ye do and ye will,—
Let all galaxies meet, I am mightiest still!

The first red ray that heralds my way,
 Just kisses the mountain top;
And splendour dwells in the cowslip bells
 While I kindle each nectar drop;
I speed on my wide, refulgent path,
 And Nature's homage is given;
All tones are pour'd to greet my adored
 As I reach the blue mid-heaven,
And the sweetest and boldest, the truly free—
The lark and the eagle come nearest to me.

The glittering train so praised by man,
 The moon, night's worshipp'd queen;
The silvery scud, and the rainbow's span;
 Snatch from me their colours and sheen.
I know when my radiant streams are flung,
 Creation shows all that is bright,
But I'm jealous of naught save the face of the young
 Laughing back my noontide light:
I see nothing so pure or so dazzling on earth,
As childhood's brow with its halo of mirth.

My strength goes down in the crystal caves,
 I gem the billow's wide curl;
I paint the dolphin and burnish the waves,
 I tinge the coral and pearl.
Love ye the flowers! What power, save mine,
 Can the velvet rose unfold?
Who else can purple the grape on the vine,
 Or flush the wheat-ear with gold!
Look on the beam-lit wilderness spot—
'Tis more fair than the palace, where I come not.

Though giant clouds ride on the whirlwind's tide,
 And gloom on the world may fall;
I yet flash on in gorgeous pride,
 Untarnish'd, above them all.
So the pure, warm heart for awhile may appear,
 In probations of sorrow and sin,
To be dimm'd and obscured, but trial or tear
 Cannot darken the spirit within.
Let the breast keep its truth, and Life's shadows may roll,
But they quench not, they reach not the Sun nor the Soul.