Illume the burnished mirror of the bay,
Whilst o’er its smooth and polished surface glide
Unnumbered sails in triumph and in pride,
Some dim in cloudy shade, some pure in light,
Whilst some, far distant, scarcely win the sight.
And now the glory of the noonday sun
Makes each wave silver that it shines upon;
Keen, vivid radiance pouring from the sky
Flashes around, too piercing for the eye!
But evening’s beams of ever-varied hue