audio The Sun, who holds e'er loved, holds e'er fired, the immature Sun who today lifted with sublime design, to be superb. Sun, in pajamas with shapes sewn on the forepart, Sun who woke to an cloud-covered morn, a forepart rolled in over dark on a blast, yawning behind a thick Grey cover, but who sees no less keenly. Our Sun, whom we descry en passant, peaked through a hole in the ozone, through the door of the bedchamber, plucky Sun, whose reactions... read more