After a Season of Storm by Edward Thurlow

Yet I am weary of this restless woe,
This hubbub in the empire of the air,
That storm on storm doth still engender so,
As if the skies were never to be fair;
Forsooth the Earth, that is to ruin heir,
‘Gin to avise her ancient heritage,
And, having wrestled long with blust’ring care,
In shaking with infirmity of age:
Or, otherwise, let this alternate stage
Pass to sweet mirth from woeful tragedy;
Too long it has been rent with warlike rage,
Lacking the softer voice of comedy:
In timely change our true affections lie;
Grief without end will make e’en Virtue die!


Date: 1813

By: Edward Thurlow (1781-1829)

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