When the wind storms by with a shout, and the stern sea-caves <br />Rejoice in the tramp and the roar of onsetting waves, <br />Then, then, it comes home to the heart that the top of life <br />Is the passion that burns the blood in the act of strife - <br />Till you pity the dead down there in their quiet graves. <br /> <br />But to drowse with the fen behind and the fog before, <br />When the rain-rot spreads and a tame sea mumbles the shore, <br />Not to adventure, none to fight, no right and no wrong, <br />Sons of the Sword heart-sick for a stave of your sire's old song - <br />O, you envy the blessed death that can live no more!<br /><br />William Ernest Henley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-the-wind-storms-by-with-a-shout/
