You better sure shall live, not evermore Tyring high seas, nor while sea rage you flee. Pressing too much upon ill-harboured shore. The golden mean who loves, lives safely free From filth of foreworn house, and quiet lives, Released from court, where envy needs must be. The wind most oft the hugest pine-tree grieves; The stately towers come down with greater fall; The highest hills the bolt of thunder cleaves; Ill haps do fill with hope, good hopes appal With fear of change the courage well prepared; Foul winters, as they come, away they shall. Though present times and past with evils be snared, They shall not last; with cithern silent muse Apollo wakes, and bow hath sometime spared. In hard estate with stout valour use, The same man still in whom wisdom prevails; In too full wind draw in thy swelling sails. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 112. GIBRALTAR by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL by GEORGE GORDON BYRON A LINE-STORM SONG by ROBERT FROST HAIL COLUMBIA by JOSEPH HOPKINSON THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL PARTED FRIENDS by JAMES MONTGOMERY HAPPINESS THROUGH THE YEAR by J. MARGARET CRUTE ASHCRAFT |