BYRON, what clash in thee of sea and wind, Wrecking and squandering all we treasure most! What riches of ungovernable mind Washed up along some bleak despairing coast! Rare liquor doth besiege the furious capes, The iron steeps are splashed with blood of grapes, All the perfumed cargo of thy heady wine Flung to inhabitants of rocks and fogs To grope for, and get drunk out of their clogs While fades the chaos-tingeing fiery juice divine. . . . | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INVITATION by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS TWENTY DAYS by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT A BAGATELLE by JAMES G. BURNETT NIGHT by MARY FRANCES MARSHALL BUTTS TROILUS AND CRESSIDA [CRISEYDE]: BOOK 5 by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |