Criticism

With swelling breast I launch upon the tide
My artist argosies, and bid them sail,
So joy like mine may greet them in a gale,
And sweep them over radiant waters wide:
But ragged cross-waves rise to shock my pride:
Cold breezes make me wince; rude winds loud rail:
False-friendly blasts pierce through my thickest mail:
No haven beckons where my ships may ride.
They mock the craft, the flag, the sails, the course;
Where I am steering not, they bid me steer,
Till Faint Heart whispers me "Throw up your hands,
And meet the rigor of your fate perforce."
But Love cries "Hold fast" smiling through a tear.
Yea, it is only love that understands.