And my wings are nearly furled;
I have caused a scene so dreary,
I am glad to quit the world!
With bitterness I’m thinking
On the evil I have done,
And to my caverns sinking
From the coming of the sun.
In that pure and holy light,
When he feels the hopes I’ve stricken
With an everlasting blight!
For widely, in my madness,
Have I poured abroad my wrath,
And changing joy to sadness,
Scattered ruin on my path.
And my power in silence owns;
But the deep and troubled ocean
O’er my deeds of horror moans!
I have sunk the brightest treasure—
I’ve destroyed the fairest form—
I have sadly filled my measure,
And I am now a dying storm.
This is what my friend was upset about: