Apollo Musagetes by Matthew Arnold

Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts,

Thick breaks the red flame;

All Etna heaves fiercely

Her forest-clothed frame. 

Not here, O Apollo!

Are haunts meet for thee.

But, where Helicon breaks down

In cliff to the sea, 

Where the moon-silver'd inlets

Send far their light voice

Up the still vale of Thisbe,

O speed, and rejoice! 

On the sward at the cliff-top

Lie strewn the white flocks,

On the cliff-side the pigeons

Roost deep in the rocks. 

In the moonlight the shepherds,

Soft lull'd by the rills,

Lie wrapped in their blankets

Asleep on the hills. 

--What forms are these coming

So white through the gloom?

What garments out-glistening

The gold-flower'd broom? 

What sweet-breathing presence

Out-perfumes the thyme?

What voices enrapture

The night's balmy prime? 

'Tis Apollo comes leading

His choir, the Nine.

--The leader is fairest,

But all are divine. 

They are lost in the hollows!

They stream up again!

What seeks on this mountain

The glorified train?-- 

They bathe on this mountain,

In the spring by their road;

Then on to Olympus,

Their endless abode. 

--Whose proase do they mention?

Of what is it told?--

What will be for ever;

What was from of old. 

First hymn they the Father

Of all things; and then,

The rest of immortals,

The action of men. 

The day in his hotness,

The strife with the palm;

The night in her silence,

The stars in their calm.