Aubrey Thomas de Vere (1814–1902)

I SAW the Master of the Sun. He stood

High in his luminous car, himself more bright;

An Archer of immeasurable might:

On his left shoulder hung his quiver’d load;

Spurn’d by his steeds the eastern mountains glow’d;

Forward his eagle eye and bow of Light

He bent, and while both hands that arch embow’d,

Shaft after shaft pursued the flying night.

No wings profaned that godlike form: around

His neck high-held an ever-moving crowd

Of locks hung glistening: while such perfect sound

Fell from his bowstring that th’ ethereal dome

Thrill’d as a dew-drop; and each passing cloud

Expanded, whitening like the ocean foam.