Sonnet 70

Tarry thou golde sun; upon our hills,
Our own bohemian hills—above our woods;
O tarry: 'tis alone thine influence fills
With rays of light Bohemia's solitudes;
And as thy mission is of peace and joy,
Chace thou the evil dreams of darkness—pour
Bright greetings—and the shades of grief destroy,
And bless the love which calls thee to watch o'er
And witness its deep faithfulness—Awake
Some splendor in mine eyes, and bear to her,
Beneath whose influence; and for whose sweet sake
I would be gay—O golden monarch! bear
To her all beams of beauty and of bliss,
And let thy smile—cheeks, lips, and eyelids kiss.