To intercept his yellow plan

The sun does not allow

Caprices of the atmosphere;

And even when the snow

Heaves balls of specks like vicious boy

Directly in his eye,

Does not so much as turn his head —

Busy with majesty!

’Tis his to stimulate the earth,

And magnetize the sea,

And bind astronomy in place —

Yet any passer-by

Would deem Ourselves the busier,

As the minutest bee

That rides supports a thunder,

A bomb to justify!