Thomas Moore on Sun

“And see—the Sun himself!—on wings Of glory up the East he springs. Angel of Light! who from the time Those heavens began their march sublime, Hath first of all the starry choir Trod in his Maker's steps of fire!”

“Blest power of sunshine!—genial day, What balm, what life is in thy ray! To feel there is such real bliss, That had the world no joy but this, To sit in sunshine calm and sweet,— It were a world too exquisite For man to leave it for the gloom, The deep, cold shadow, of the tomb.”