Classic Poem

I ever love, where never hope appeares,
Yet hope drawes on my never-hoping care,
And my lives hope would die but for dyspaire,
My never certaine joy, breeds ever-certaine feares.

Uncertaine-dread, gyves wings unto my hope,
Yet my hopes wings are loden so with feare,
As they cannot ascend to my hopes spheare,
Yet feare gyves them more then a heavenly scope:

Yet thys large roome is bounded with dyspaire,
So my love is styll fettered with vaine hope,
And lyberty deprives hym of hys scope,
And thus am I imprisond in the ayre;
Then sweet Dispaire, awhile hold up thy head,
Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.