Full of words all wind and no other force…

Full of words all wind and no other force,

A fool’s troth brings on hope, then blows it ‘way from us;

So men’s dubitable dreams which gull their sleepers,

And smite down them most, when it be nearest they come to pass!

Albeit sleeper-fools, erst hoodwink’d, by the hoaxers are won ‘gain,

And to the gasher return with their aching pain:

Not so do I, who best am with present time;

And come whatso will, I am a man – more says this rhyme:

Save my hardihood thaws in the winter

Where thou pull’st back thy sun, and fix snow-ice disdain there!


Lo! How skysails of my life bootless bowse and proudly spread,

By thine own forceful breath unbillowed;

That the liveried barque slows ‘pon minatory waters,

Staying for ruin within heaven’s aspection and whimpers,

Wherein the puckish ox-eye winks at the sailor,

And cue him down with the mess his last liquor:

Thence heaven’s cheeks crack and sudden break in rain;

Prod the flood to high mark, and undoth mess, mate, master, boatswain!

So I’m bet to founder beneath thy sneer,

For that thy disfavour draws ruin e’er near!


O give me thy imprimatur on, ladyplum, and wind to my sail;

Or should you sneer and cease, I drain that bark to its last of ale!


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By Sydney Chesterfield on April 28, 2016 · Posted in Braindrops On Yellow Leaves, Literary, Poetry

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