Storm out at sea, waves batter, wind roars—
That's the work of the Sun they say.
For three days, or more, the teeming rain pours—
That's the work of the Sun they say.
Wind screams in the rigging, a devilish wail!
Decks resound to the drumming of hail,
Snowstorms drive from a source far away—
All that's the work of the Sun they say.
Hours and minutes, the day and the night,
All that's set by the Sun we are told,
Day-time when heavens are azure and bright,
Night-time's obscurity stippled with gold.
Summer and winter attend on the sun.
Swallows' migrations, how they must fly,
Orbits on which the planets must run,
All depends on the Sun in the sky.
From the Sun comes the clover for bees,
Yellow patches when meadows are parched,
Northern lights when the skies seem to freeze,
Rainbows' spectra to high heavens arched.
Sun may sear, be cruel to men;
But we say.
"May the Sun always shine!"
Men have noticed this time and again—
Like a woman the Sun is divine.
Love makes women tender and kind,
Yet when loving is over and done,
Hating, a woman's radiance can blind,
Probing, scorching, like rays of the Sun.
Veils may cover her eyes like a cloud,
Or her face may be open and clear,
Or, at times, contemptuous and proud,
Then her words can be cruel and sere.
She brings warmth when the heart is chill,
Or her glance can freeze once more,
But I say,
"Change your mind as you will,
Radiant woman and the Sun I adore!"