It comes only before,
It comes only after,
Rises only in darkness,
But rises only in light.
It is always the same,
But is yet always different.
What am I?
My love, when I gaze on thy beautiful face,
Careering along, yet always in place -
The thought has often come into my mind
If I ever shall see thy glorious behind.
An arm points north, east, south, then west.
Ever in circles, never pausing to rest.
It passes its brother twenty three times,
As the sun passes by and the moon starts to climb.
What is it?
As beautiful as the setting sun,
As delicate as the morning dew;
An angel’s dusting from the stars
that can turn the Earth into
A frosted moon.
What am I?
I make ash, but I’m not a bonfire.
I can expel rocks, but I’m not a slingshot.
I can be a mountain, but I’m not in the Himalayas.
I have a crater, but I’m not the Moon.
I erupt, but I don't have a bad temper.
What am I?