Poem by Mary Robinson

Sonnet 41. Yes, I Will Go

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

1. To the Muse of Poetry
2. Sonnet 31. Far O’er the Waves
3. The Bee and the Butterfly
4. The Lascar
5. Sonnet 36. Lead Me, Sicilian Maids

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