Yes, I will go, where circling whirlwinds rise, Where threatening clouds in sable grandeur lour; Where the blast yells, the liquid columns pour, And maddening billows combat with the skies! There, while the Demon of the tempest flies On growing pinions through the troublous hour, The wild waves gasp impatient to devour, And on the rock the wakened vulture cries! Oh! dreadful solace to the stormy mind! To me, more pleasing than the valley's rest, The woodland songsters, or the sportive kind, That nip the turf, or prune the painted crest; For in despair alone, the wretched find That unction sweet, which lulls the bleeding breast! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SOHRAB AND RUSTUM by MATTHEW ARNOLD COWPER'S GRAVE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING LOVE AT SEA by THEOPHILE GAUTIER TERNISSA, FR HELLENICS by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR AFTER THE BATTLE (OF AUGHRIM) by THOMAS MOORE WINTER RAIN by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 5. NIGHT SONG AT AMALFI by SARA TEASDALE |