Seeking the forehead of the sky,
Such mist obscures his struggling beams,
No bigger than the moon he seems.
Though weak at first, his rays at length
Grow pleasant in their noonday strength,
And where a while they chance to fall
Fling a faint splendour over all.
See, o'er the woods where grass is wet
With hoary drops that cling there yet,
With soft light clothing earth and bough