Classic Poem

Finding those beams (which I must ever love)
To mar my mind, and with my hurt to please,
I deem'd it best some absence, for to prove
If farther place might further me to ease.
My eyes, thence drawn where lived all their light,
Blinded forthwith in dark despair did lie,
Like to the mole, with want of guiding sight,
Deep plung'd in earth, deprived of the sky.
In absence blind, and wearied with that woe,
To greater woes, by presence, I return:
Even as the fly which to the flame doth go,
Pleas'd with the light that his small corse doth burn.
Fair choice I have, either to live or die:
A blinded mole, or else a burned fly.