Apollo himself is the speaker, tracing his daily course from waking at dawn to his reluctant descent into evening. He describes the sleepless Hours rousing him from star-draped sleep, then his climb across the sky, striding over mountains and sea, leaving clouds fiery underfoot. There’s immense confidence here—he sees his light as a force that burns away deceit, empowers honest deeds, and nourishes every beautiful color in cloud and flower. Even the moon and stars merely borrow his radiance. By noon he stands at heaven’s peak, but the second half of the poem turns gently sorrowful as he wanders down into the Atlantic twilight, soothing the grieving sky with a parting smile. The mood is expansive and luminous, yet tinged with a serene melancholy. In the final stanza, Apollo claims to be the very eye through which the universe perceives its own divinity—a breathtaking statement of unified power, where all art, prophecy, and natural light flow from his song.
Hymn of Apollo — Summary
The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie, Curtained with star-inwoven tapestries From the broad moonlight of the sky, Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes,-- Waken me when their Mother, the gray Dawn, Tells them that dreams and that the moon is gone.
Then I arise, and climbing Heaven's blue dome, I walk over the mountains and the waves, Leaving my robe upon the ocean foam; My footsteps pave the clouds with fire; the caves Are filled with my bright presence, and the air Leaves the green Earth to my embraces bare.
The sunbeams are my shafts, with which I kill Deceit, that loves the night and fears the day; All men who do or even imagine ill Fly me, and from the glory of my ray Good minds and open actions take new might, Until diminished by the reign of Night.
I feed the clouds, the rainbows and the flowers With their aethereal colours; the moon's globe And the pure stars in their eternal bowers Are cinctured with my power as with a robe; Whatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shine Are portions of one power, which is mine.
I stand at noon upon the peak of Heaven, Then with unwilling steps I wander down Into the clouds of the Atlantic even; For grief that I depart they weep and frown: What look is more delightful than the smile With which I soothe them from the western isle?
I am the eye with which the Universe Beholds itself and knows itself divine; All harmony of instrument or verse, All prophecy, all medicine is mine, All light of art or nature;--to my song Victory and praise in its own right belong.