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George Herbert - The Storm
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If as the windes and waters here below 
                         Do flie and flow, 
My sighs and tears as busy were above;
                         Sure they would move 
And much affect thee, as tempestuous times 
Amaze poore mortals, and object their crimes. 

Starres have their storms, ev`n in a high degree,
                         As well as we. 
A throbbing conscience spurred by remorse
                         Hath a strange force: 
It quits the earth, and mounting more and more, 
Dares to assault thee, and besiege thy doore. 

There it stands knocking, to thy musick`s wrong,
                         And drowns the song. 
Glorie and honour are set by till it    
                         An answer get. 
Poets have wrong`d poore storms: such dayes are best; 
They purge the aire without, within the breast.
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