Loud winds deplume the bush and tow'ring tree.
The ploughman furrows earth, sows seed i' th' tides,
But nature weeps for me, his pains derides.
Copernicus his tenet's verified,
The massy globe does 'bout its centre ride.
All things disranked, nothing observes its state,
Change time and tide, or post or antedate.
But thou, Bellam', art deaf to me and blind,
Steel'st thine affections, flint'st thy hardenèd mind,
1850And strik'st fire thence t' inflame my tinder heart,