Rudel to the Lady of Tripoli by Robert Browning

I

I know a Mount, the gracious Sun perceives / First, when he visits, last, too, when he leaves / The world; and, vainly favored, it repays / The day-long glory of his steadfast gaze / By no change of its large calm front of snow. / And underneath the Mount, a Flower I know, / He cannot have perceived, that changes ever / At his approach: and, in the lost endeavor / To live his life, has parted, one by one, / With all a flower's true graces, for the grace / Of being but a foolish mimic sun, / With ray-like florets round a disk-like face. / Men nobly call by many a name the Mount / As over many a land of theirs its large / Calm front of snow like a triumphal targe / Is reared, and still with old names, fresh names vie, / Each to its proper praise and own account: / Men call the Flower the Sunflower, sportively.