Who gather beauty round your Titan knees,
As the lens gathers light.
The dawn gleams rosy on your splendid brows,
The sun at noonday folds you in his might,
And swathes your forehead at his going down,
Last leaving, where he first in pride bestows,
His golden crown.
In unregarded glooms,
Where hardly shall a human footstep pass,
Myriads of ferns and soft maianthemums,