O, Jupiter! purported god of gods,
High monarch of all that which is divine;
On wintry nights as these, while my head nods,
I ponder your magnificence so fine.
The bleak December sky serves as your throne
Within this kingdom frozen and forlorn;
You dwarf sad Pluto as he weeps alone,
And ravish Venus, with her jewels adorned.
With you no mortal ever can compare,
Your shadow towering over the Earth;
This distant majesty no man would dare
To challenge with his soul of worldly birth.

Yet of what import is your godly might,

To that heart which is torn by human plight?