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...AFTER TWO YEARS by RICHARD ALDINGTON CONTRA MORTEM: THE NOTHING I by HAYDEN CARRUTH ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE, MY LITTLE ONE' by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON AQUATINT FRAMED IN GOLD by AMY LOWELL |