Classic Poem

When as the sunne doth drinke vp all the streames,
And with a feruent heate the flowres doth kill;
The shadow of a wood, or of a hill,
Doth serue vs for a targe against his beames:
But ah, those eyes that burne me with desire,
And seeke to parch the substance of my soule,
The ardour of their rayes for to controule,
I wot not where my selfe for to retire:
Twixt them and me, to haue procur'd some ease,
I interpos'd the seas, woods, hils, and riuers;
And yet am of those neuer emptied quiuers
The obiect still, and burne, be where I please:
But of the cause I need not for to doubt,
Within my brest I beare the fire about.