What its pearls are to the sea,
What the dew is to the day, my love,
Thy beauty is to me.
We may say that the sun is dead, and gone
Forever; and may swear he will rise no more;
The skies may put on mourning for their God,
And earth heap ashes on her head; but who
Shall keep the sun back when he thinks to rise?
Where is the chain shall bind him? Where the cell
Shall hold him? Hell he would burn down to embers,