Blow soft, ye winds, to soothe a hero's pillow, Speak low, ye waves, that plash against his prow, Yet, if ye rage, let not the rolling billow Its stormy crests too mightily endow; Scourge not that head which like the wind-bent willow The Acerbity of Fate did oft avow. Blow high, blow low,—your buffeting is kind Compared with that which in man's world we find! |