A Dirge. - P.B. Shelley.

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!
 
~ Poems (1820).