Classic Poem

Why doe you so much wish for raine, when I,
Whose eyes still showring are, stand you so nigh?
Thinke you that my poore eyes now cannot lend
You store enough? alas, but rightly bend
Your looks on me, and you shall see a store
Able to moisten Earth, and ten earths more:
Sighs to make Heaven as soft as tender wooll,
And griefe sufficient to make up the full
Of all despaires, then wish not, since in me
Contained are teares, griefe, and misery.