Classic Poem

WHEREIN HE LIKENS HIS STATE TO A STORM-RACKED SHIP

My vessel, cargoed with oblivion, cleaves
The boisterous deep, under cold midnight skies,
And mine old enemy, Love, the tiller plies,
While Scylla hisses and Charybdis heaves;
At every oar imagination weaves
Fancies that both the storm and death despise;
A humid and eternal wind of sighs
Wails through my sails and shatters as it grieves.
Torrents of tears and clouds of chilling scorn
Wash and relax the shrouds so overworn,
Of ignorance and error intertwined;
The two dear lights which beaconed me are blind;
Reason and Art the waves to death have torn,
No hope or harbour comforts heart or mind.