Classic Poem

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 passing cloud
Expanded, whitening like the ocean foam.