You better sure shall live, not evermore Tyring high seas, nor while sea rage you flee. Pressing too much upon ill-harboured shore. The golden mean who loves, lives safely free From filth of foreworn house, and quiet lives, Released from court, where envy needs must be. The wind most oft the hugest pine-tree grieves; The stately towers come down with greater fall; The highest hills the bolt of thunder cleaves; Ill haps do fill with hope, good hopes appal With fear of change the courage well prepared; Foul winters, as they come, away they shall. Though present times and past with evils be snared, They shall not last; with cithern silent muse Apollo wakes, and bow hath sometime spared. In hard estate with stout valour use, The same man still in whom wisdom prevails; In too full wind draw in thy swelling sails. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO SHAKESPEARE by DAVID HARTLEY COLERIDGE THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT ON THE NIGHT EXPRESS by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE RONALDS OF THE BENNALS by ROBERT BURNS LAST REVELATION by WINIFRED ADAMS BURR |