Great is the sun, and wide he goes <br />Through empty heaven with repose; <br />And in the blue and glowing days <br />More thick than rain he showers his rays. <br /> <br />Though closer still the blinds we pull <br />To keep the shady parlour cool, <br />Yet he will find a chink or two <br />To slip his golden fingers through. <br /> <br />The dusty attic spider-clad <br />He, through the keyhole, maketh glad; <br />And through the broken edge of tiles <br />Into the laddered hay-loft smiles. <br /> <br />Meantime his golden face around <br />He bares to all the garden ground, <br />And sheds a warm and glittering look <br />Among the ivy's inmost nook. <br /> <br />Above the hills, along the blue, <br />Round the bright air with footing true, <br />To please the child, to paint the rose, <br />The gardener of the World, he goes.<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/summer-sun/
