PHOEBUS, arise! <br /> And paint the sable skies <br />With azure, white, and red; <br />Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed, <br />That she thy career may with roses spread; <br />The nightingales thy coming each-where sing; <br />Make an eternal spring! <br />Give life to this dark world which lieth dead; <br />Spread forth thy golden hair <br />In larger locks than thou wast wont before, <br />And emperor-like decore <br />With diadem of pearl thy temples fair: <br />Chase hence the ugly night <br />Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light. <br />This is that happy morn, <br />That day, long wished day <br />Of all my life so dark <br />(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn <br />And fates not hope betray), <br />Which, only white, deserves <br />A diamond for ever should it mark: <br />This is the morn should bring into this grove <br />My Love, to hear and recompense my love. <br />Fair King, who all preserves, <br />But show thy blushing beams, <br />And thou two sweeter eyes <br />Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams <br />Did once thy heart surprise: <br />Nay, suns, which shine as clear <br />As thou when two thou did to Rome appear. <br />Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise: <br />If that ye, winds, would hear <br />A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, <br />Your stormy chiding stay; <br />Let zephyr only breathe <br />And with her tresses play, <br />Kissing sometimes these purple ports of death. <br /> <br />The winds all silent are; <br />And Phoebus in his chair <br />Ensaffroning sea and air <br />Makes vanish every star: <br />Night like a drunkard reels <br />Beyond the hills to shun his flaming wheels: <br />The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue, <br />The clouds bespangle with bright gold their blue: <br />Here is the pleasant place-- <br />And everything, save Her, who all should grace.<br /><br />William Henry Drummond<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/invocation-4/
