O rising Sun, so fair and gay, br What are you bringing me, I pray, br Of sorrow or of joy to-day? br br You look as if you meant to please, br Reclining in your gorgeous ease br Behind the bare-branched apple-trees. br br The world is rich and bright, as though br The pillows where your head is low br Had lit the fields of driven snow. br br The hoar-frost on the window turns br Into a wood of giant ferns br Where some great conflagration burns. br br And all my children comes again br As lightsome and as free from stain br As those frost-pictures on the pane. br br I would that I could mount on high br And meet you, Sun--that you and I br Had to ourselves the whole wide sky.