Hymn to Appolo

The Pleiades were up,

Watching the silent air;

The seeds and roots in the Earth

Were swelling for summer fare;

The Ocean, its neighbour,

Was at its old labour,

When, who⁠—who did dare

To tie, like a madman, thy plant round his brow,

And grin and look proudly,

And blaspheme so loudly,

And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?

O Delphic Apollo?