Our storme is past, and that storms trannous rage,
A stupid calme, but nothing it, doth swage.
The fable is inverted, and farre more
A blocke afflicts, now, than a storke before.
Stormes chage, and soon wear out themselves, or us;
In calmes, Heaven laughs to see us languish thus.

--from "The Calme," John Donne


I'd post the whole thing, but I like it a lot better in old spelling, and I can't find an old spelling version online. so i linked to the Luminarium version.

(note: this is one of those long poems without stanza breaks; it's a lot easier to read if you break it into sentences in your head.)