THE quarrelling winds perplex me. On this side One wave rolls up, on that a different tide, And the black ship, whereon we sail, Shifts with the shifting of the gale. We are exhausted by the fearful blast: Round the mast's foot the bilge is rising fast. And all the sail is thin and worn, With great holes gaping, rent and torn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL by GEORGE GORDON BYRON SAINT MAY: A CITY LYRIC by JOSEPH ASHBY-STERRY ZINNIAS by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD MIRACLE by LIBERTY HYDE BAILEY IRON HEEL by ANNE MILLAY BREMER |