"A Dirge"

Rough wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;

Sad storm, whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary main--
Wail, for the world's wrong!
-P.B. Shelley




Perhaps I should have waited for November before posting this poem since the weather isn't as bad as all that and I am in a fairly good mood but it is raining outside my window so it is still slightly appropriate.