Monday, January 9, 2012


| Monday, January 9, 2012 |

By ~ Thomas Carew

TOSS'D in a troubled sea of griefs, I float
Far from the shore, in a storm-beaten boat ;
Where my sad thoughts do, like the compass, show
The several points from which cross-winds do blow.
My heart doth, like the needle, touch'd with love,
Still fix'd on you, point which way I would move ;
You are the bright pole-star, which, in the dark
Of this long absence, guides my wand'ring bark ;
Love is the pilot, but o'er-come with fear
Of your displeasure, dares not homewards steer.
My feareful hope hangs on my trembling sail,
Nothing is wanting but a gentle gale,
Which pleasant breath must blow from your sweet lip :
Bid it but move, and quick as thought this ship
Into your arms, which are my port, will fly,
Where it for ever shall at anchor lie.