Rough wind, that moans loud; my heart filled with doubt
When grief overwhelm me; it is too sad for a mirth or a happy song;
Wild whirling wind, when white sullen cloud
Knells at tempest all the night long;
Oh life is a sad storm; my tears are in vain,
Bare dark woods at cold bleak winter with branches strain,
Deep chock caves and dire dreary main
Wail, for my love is fickle, full of frauds; her world is wrong!
Pardon me for an acidic hater I become as I sat by a ditch,
And I took an old cracked rotten lute;
In desolation of love I sang a song which was more of a screech
Against that woman; the one who was a cruel brute.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem... Word carries meaning with substance Lovely is not only destiny but chance too