Classic Poem

Tut , tut! all 's vanity. Not I alone;
Ambition, Courage, Hate, Revenge, Despair,
All seem to exceed the measure of themselves,
When each is lofty. Hast e'er heard the wind
Run blustering through the forests, and make tremble
The aspen and the birch? Why, who would dream
That 'twas the self-same air which fanned the flowers
So delicately i' the spring? Hast seen the sea
Come swaggering on the land, till the land shook,
And all the shores and echoing caverns lost
Their dumbness in affright? Look well upon't:
'Tis the same murmuring creature scarce surmounts
The pebbles on our beach; only, being wrought
To madness by some wrong, or the moon's scorn,
'T jumps from its calm, and scales the sky, to show
What strength 't may have when angered. So it is
With the Passions, which are all irregular,
Bound by no limit, tending to no end,
Unless to show how high the Spirit of man
May soar beyond its puny dwelling place.