The world is cast in soft dominion, A plaything of lace and pearl. She claims the edges, the horizon. Yet reigns remote, ethereal. White shadows of her throne Touch hills, hollows, high and deep. Summer’s subjects under stone Sculpt the future as they sleep. Sun rises, an unwilling maid, Hands bound wielding brush. Flaming powders gently laid Painting mistress, rouge, blush. Soleil plots her distant hour, A return to glory and to grace. Seeding golden fruit and flowers. To banish pearls and cast out lace. Sun forced back by sheets of silver, Fresh dust descends, diamonds fall. The white queen issuing reminder Of who now holds these earthly halls.