YE gentle Gales, that softly move, Go whisper to the Fair I love; Tell her I languish and adore, And pity in return implore. But if she's cold to my request, Ye louder Winds, proclaim the rest -- My sighs, my tears, my griefs proclaim, And speak in strongest notes my flame. Still if she rests in mute disdain, And thinks I feel a common pain -- Wing'd with my woes, ye Tempests, fly, And tell the haughty fair I die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A WIFE IN LONDON by THOMAS HARDY GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: THE JOY OF CHURCH FELLOWSHIP RIGHTLY ATTENDED by EDWARD TAYLOR QUATORZAINS: 7. ANOTHER FANTASTIC SIMILE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES TO HIS WIFE WITH A KNIFE ON THE 14TH ANNIVERSARY OF HER WEDDING DAY by SAMUEL BISHOP A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 14 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT DEDICATIONS AND INSCRIPTIONS: 8. BEAM-VERSES AT WELL KNOWE by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |