Classic Poem

No wonder though that this my blisse dismaies,
Whilst rendred vp to neuer-pleas'd desires,
I burne, and yet must couer cursed fires,
Whose flame it selfe against my will bewrayes.
Some times my faire to launch my wound assayes,
And with th' occasion as it seemes conspires,
And indirectly oft my state inquires,
Which I would hide whilst it it selfe betrayes.
If that a guiltie gesture did disclose
The hideous horrours that my soule contain'd,
Or wand'ring words deriu'd from inward woes,
Did tell my state, their treason I disdain'd:
And I could wish to be but as I am,
If that she knew how I conceale the same.