The Sun Comes Up

    Poke-nosed old fool, damned head strong Sun,
    Why do you thus
Through glass panes, and through cloth drapes, call on us?
Must to how you move the time of love run?
    Pert nit picked wretch, go chide
    Late school boys and sour young bobs,
  Go tell the court's hunt that the king will ride,
  Call ants from the field to take in jobs;
Love, sans change, no year's time knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

    Thy beams so looked up to, and strong
    Why should you think?
I could block out and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
    If her eyes have not made yours blind,
    Look, and this next day late tell me,
  If both East and West Isles of spice and mine
  Be where you left them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom you saw this past day,
And you shall hear, "All here in one bed lay."

    She's all states, and all kings I;
    Nought else is;
Kings do but play us; check that with this,
And good name's aped, all wealth is made by lies.
    You, Sun, are half as filled with joy as we,
    In that the world's been made small thus:
  Your age asks ease, and since your whole job be
  To warm the world, that's done when you warm us.
Shine here to us, and you are all lands here;
This bed your core is, and these walls they sphere.

                                -- John Donne