Hung like a palace on a bridal feast,
When clouds of purple standards are unrolled,
And morning lifts its diadem of gold!
What streams of radiance flood the azure field,
When the Noon marches with his shining shield
And scales the eternal steep of Heaven alone,
And looks o’er Nature from his burning throne!
What dreamy softness in the melting west
When Evening sinks in holiness to rest,