The shadow sword of night descends upon the field of day.
The windswept crystal halls of light like shattered prisms lay.
To pulse awhile with bleeding fire as the evening seeps away.
The fiery buckler of the sun makes way before the ranks of gloom.
The Earth swings to Pluto's side. Apollo mans his western tomb.
Soon twinkling sentinels appear to watch afar the darkness reign.
Till Sol attacks the eastern rear and brings his glory back again.
My lord is neither hot nor gay. It is his hour