When the rough storm roars round the peasant's cot,
And bursting thunders roll their awful din;
While shrieks the frighted night-bird o'er the spot,
Oh! what serenity remains within!
For there contentment, health, and peace, abide,
And pillow'd age, with calm eye fix'd above;
Labour's bold son, his blithe and blooming bride,
And lisping innocence, and filial love.
To such a scene let proud Ambition turn,
Whose aching breast conceals its secret woe;
Then shall his fireful spirit melt, and mourn
The mild enjoyments it can never know;
Then shall he feel the littleness of state,
And sigh that fortune e'er had made him great.
When The Rough Storm Roars Round The Peasant's Cot
Thomas Gent
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Poem topics: feel, innocence, never, night, peace, son, bird, health, bold, great, storm, spirit, bride, secret, pillow, labour, serenity, scene, mourn, fortune, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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