Classic Poem

Wrapt in grey clouds they are sleeping,
All the mighty gods together;
And I listen to their snoring,
And we're having awful weather.

Awful weather! tempests threaten
Our poor barque with sore disaster;
Who is there to curb these billows,
And the winds that own no master?

I can't help it! masts and timbers
In the storm must creak and snap too.
Come, I'll wrap my cloak about me;
Like the gods, I'll take my nap too.