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.