Spread above the fields of heaven, arching over Paradise.
Brief their beauty, transient, fleeting—soon the north wind’s trump is blown,
Whirl the leaves in gusty eddies, and the rainy tempests moan.
HYMN TO PHOSPHOR.
Radiant Phosphor! thou art fashioned
Like some beardless minion young,
And before the giant Mithra
Do thy wingëd sandals run.
Morning’s herald, urn of splendor!