Yes, I will go, where circling whirlwinds rise, <br />Where threat'ning clouds in sable grandeur lour; <br />Where the blast yells, the liquid columns pour, <br />And madd'ning billows combat with the skies! <br />There, while the Daemon of the tempest flies <br />On growing pinions through the troublous hour, <br />The wild waves gasp impatient to devour, <br />And on the rock the waken'd Vulture cries! <br />Oh! dreadful solace to the stormy mind! <br />To me, more pleasing than the valley's rest, <br />The woodland songsters, or the sportive kind, <br />That nip the turf, or prune the painted crest; <br />For in despair alone, the wretched find <br />That unction sweet, which lulls the bleeding breast!<br /><br />Mary Darby Robinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xli-yes-i-will-go/
