He's ill, and never hardly speaks, and my sister frets all day long.
"The Master of the Ceremonies"
George Manville Fenn
There are no tempests in this sheltered bay, The stillness frets me, and I long to be Where winds sweep strong and blow tempestuously, To stand upon some hill-top far away And face a gathering gale, and let the stress Of Nature's mood subdue my restlessness.
"A Woman's Love Letters"
Sophie M. Almon-Hensley