Classic Poem

To cause accord or to aggre,
Two contraries in oon degre,
And in oon poynct, as semeth me,
To all mans wit it cannot be:
It is impossible.

Of hete and cold when I complain
And say that hete doeth cause my pain,
When cold doeth shake me every vain
And boeth at ons, I say again
It is impossible.

That man that hath his hert away,
If lyff lyveth there as men do say
That he hertles should last on day
Alyve and not to torn to clay,
It is impossible.

Twixt lyff and deth, say what who sayth,
There lyveth no lyff that draweth breth;
They joyne so nere and eke i' feith
To seke for liff by wissh of deth,
It is impossible.

Yet love that all thing doeth subdue,
Whose power ther may no liff eschew,
Hath wrought in me that I may rew
These miracles to be so true
That are impossible.