I saw the Master of the Sun. He stood
High in his luminous car, himself more bright;
An Archer of immeasurable might
On his left shoulder hung his quivered load
Spurned by his Steeds the eastern mountain glowed
Forward his eager eye, and brow of light
He bent; and, while both hands that arch embowed,
Shaft after shaft pursued the flying Night.
No wings profaned that godlike form: around
His neck high held an ever-moving crowd
Of locks hung glistening: while such perfect sound
Fell from his bowstring, that th'ethereal dome
Thrilled as a dewdrop; and each pa**ing cloud
Expanded, whitening like the ocean foam.