She floats, a watery globe, in the face of the Sun.
She urges up her writhing continents that smoke high unto Heaven.
And they grow green as her Seas are green. The Winds are in her hair, the Sun dowers her with riches as a bride, the Waters lace her robes with silver cords.
The tributary seasons begin their march, laden with store of beauty.
The stately sphere lifts up her chant, measured unto her dance in majestic tides of rhythm:
SONG OF THE PLANET EARTH
Again before thee winding, O Sun, at length,--
At length, thou call'st me from the wintry deep!
With cornucopian Fire thou giv'st me strength,
Caresses and golden hours and grace of sleep.
My filial song I weave with theirs who roll
Afar or close, past thy celestial face,
My sister lamps that o'er the Zodiac's scroll
From fane to fane in adoration pace.
The rapt Equator's crimson cincture holds
Me close; my emerald ocean-robes flow free,
And purple soar my mountains, folds on folds,
With vale and plain. My bondmaid Moon to me
Reveals her marbled snow in cusp and shale--
Whilst in my flinty womb the valiant strife
Of Fire proclaims me thine and bans the pale
Usurper Death beyond my fields of Life.
In Winds that wrap my path, lo, I shall sing
To thee a choral eternal, Lord of Days,
And Life with myriad hearts in me shall sing
Thy glory to scan forever, and chant thy praise.
The wrinkled Moon, charred by the fires of her brief youth, sits serene above the rose-blown round of Earth.
Like an aged beldam she crouches in the heavens, ashes upon her head, weaving her ancient silver magic, spelling enchantment upon the nether Sea.