Byron

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I wish to tune my quivering lyre,
To deeds of fame, and notes of fire;
To echo, from its rising swell,
How heroes fought and nations fell

[...]

All, all in vain; my wayward lyre
Wakes silver notes of soft Desire.
Adieu, ye Chiefs renown'd in arms!
Adieu the clang of War's alarms!
To other deeds my soul is strung,
And sweeter notes shall now be sung;
My harp shall all its powers reveal,
To tell the tale my heart must feel;
Love, Love alone, my lyre shall claim,
In songs of bliss and sighs of flame.

-- Lord Byron, "Translation from Anacreon (ode 1) To His Lyre"

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Rain, Of Course

Yet another day of storm and rain.

Even Sylvia Plath would be bored
Watching these heavenly pourings,
Her inspiration drenched soggy
Like cereal left in milk too long.