The furious gun in his raging ire, <br />When that the bowl is rammed in too sore <br />And that the flame cannot part from the fire, <br />Cracketh in sunder, and in the air doth roar <br />The shivered pieces; right so doth my desire, <br />Whose flame increaseth from more to more, <br />Which to let out I dare not look or speak; <br />So now hard force my heart doth all to break.<br /><br />Sir Thomas Wyatt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-furious-gun/
