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...THE LOST SHEEP by SARAH PRATT MCCLAIN GREENE TIPPERARY: 2. AS THE TRANSLATORS WOULD HAVE INTERLINED IT . . . by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS WHITSUNDAY 1644 by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE WANDERING JEW by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER DINNER by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE CHAMPION (SUGGESTED BY A STORY OF JACK LONDON) by BERTON BRALEY |