Tempest, and its moan,
Singeth bright Apollo
In his golden zone —
Cloud doth never shade him,
Nor a storm invade him,
On his joyous1 throne.
So when I behold2 me
In an orb3 as bright,
How thy soul doth fold me
In its throne of light!
Sorrow never paineth,
Nor a care attaineth
To that blessed height.
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1
joyous
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adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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2
behold
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v.看,注视,看到 | |
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3
orb
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n.太阳;星球;v.弄圆;成球形 | |
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