This is my fair resort, the Summer Sun
Is rising there, the ocean gleams like gold,
On which his rolling chariot burns like fire.
Ten thousand birds are up in branch and air,
To hail this coronation, every day
Repeated from the first to last of time.
It is a glorious sight, and worthy all
That has been said or sung of it in verse.
But yet 'tis dim to me, Odora's eyes
Have cast that glory in a dull eclipse,