Classic Poem

WHEREIN HE ENTREATS LAURA NOT TO HATE THE
HEART WHERE SHE MUST PERFORCE ABIDE

If, by the troubled and disdainful sign,
The head averted and the lowered eyes,
The readiness for flight (none other flies
So fast), the deafness to all prayers of mine:
If thou, by these or other arts of thine,
Canst quit the laurelled breast where multiplies
Love's branch from the first graft, for such emprise,
Such scorn I might a worthy cause divine:
For a sweet plant of light in arid earth
Seems out of place, and thence with no regret
Departs; but since thy destiny from birth
Denies thee an asylum elsewhere, yet
At least be this thy care, fate being fate,
Not always in my heart to dwell in hate.