Classic Poem

Oh , gentle love, do not forsake the guide
Of my frail bark, on which the swelling tide
Of ruthless pride
Doth beat and threaten wrack from every side.
Gulfs of disdain do gape to overwhelm
This boat, nigh sunk with grief, whilst at the helm
Despair commands;
And, round about, the shifting sands
Of faithless love and false inconstancy,
With rocks of cruelty,
Stop up my passage to the neighbour lands.

My sighs have raised those winds, whose fury bears
My sails o'erboard, and in their place spreads tears;
And from my tears
This sea is sprung, where nought but death appears.
A misty cloud of anger hides the light
Of my fair star; and everywhere black night
Usurps the place
Of those bright rays, which once did grace
My forth-bound ship: but when it could no more
Behold the vanish'd shore,
In the deep flood she drown'd her beamy face.