He is not dead that sometime hath a fall, The sonne retorneth that was under the cloud, And when fortune hath spitt oute all her gall, I trust good luck to me shall be allowed. For I have sene a shipp into heaven fall After the storme hath broke boeth mast and shrowed, And eke the willowe that stoppeth with the wind Doeth ryse again and greater wode doeth bind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HELEN, THE SAD QUEEN by PAUL VALERY UNGUARDED GATES by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE END OF THE WORLD by GORDON BOTTOMLEY WARREN'S ADDRESS [TO THE AMERICANS] [AT BUNKER HILL] [JUNE 17, 1775] by JOHN PIERPONT UNDER MY WINDOW by THOMAS WESTWOOD THE ORPHAN'S COMPLAINT by ANNABEL HANNA BANES THE ZONNEBEKE ROAD by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |