"Unchangeable, save to thy wild wares' play, 



Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — 

 Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 



" Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 

 Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, — 

 Calm or convulsed— in breeze, or gale, or storm, 

 Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 

 Bark heaving — boundless, endless, and sublime, 

 The image of eternity, the throne 



Of the Invisible." 



Byron, 



