Classic Poem

The Fall of Leafe , the Spring tide of my Love ,
Flowring a fresh with Hope I found to bee:
But now (alas) the Spring time for to prove,
Fall of the Leafe of my lost Love I see.
 The Carnovale of my sweet LOVE is past,
 Now comes the Lent of my long Hate at last.

LOVE is revolted, whilst he (Traytor like)
Against his prince (gainst me his Soveraigne)
Weapons unjust (sauns cause) takes up to fight,
And doth his fealtie and his Homage staine.
 He is revolted and mine ALBA'S fled,
 I seeme alive here, yet in deede am dead.

In vaine I wish for what I cannot have,
And seeke with griefe to aggravate my Mone:
What is to me denied, that still I crave,
Gaulling my selfe with fond Conceits alone:
 Yet I forgive her, little knoweth she,
 That she her owne Hart wounds, when she kils me.

Meane time in uncouth Sorrowes secret Cell,
My haples Fortune hard I will disjest,
Hating all joy, I privat there will dwell,
Because I of my wish am dispossest
 Like Petrark chaste of Laura coy I plaine,
 Of whom I (never yet) could Favour gaine.