Classic Poem

All my senses, like beacon's flame,
Gave alarum to desire
To take arms in Cynthia's name,
And set all my thoughts on fire:
Fury's wit persuaded me,
Happy love was hazard's heir,
Cupid did best shoot and see
In the night where smooth is fair;
Up I start believing well
To see if Cynthia were awake;
Wonders I saw, who can tell?
And thus unto myself I spake;
Sweet God Cupid, where am I,
That by pale Diana's light
Such rich beauties do espy,
As harm our senses with delight?
Am I borne up to the skies?
See where Jove and Venus shine,
Showing in her heavenly eyes
That desire is divine:
Look where lies the Milken Way,
Way unto that dainty throne
Where while all the gods would play,
Vulcan thinks to dwell alone.
Shadowing it with curious art,
Nets of sullen golden hair,
Mars am I, and may not part,
Till that I be taken there.
There withal I heard a sound,
Made of all the parts of love,
Which did sense delight and wound;
Planets with such music move.
Those joys drew desires near.
The heavens blushed, the white showed red,
Such red as in the skies appear
When Sol parts from Thetis' bed.
Then unto myself I said
Surely I Apollo am,
Yonder is the glorious maid
Which men do Aurora name,
Who for joy she hath in me,
Blushing forth desire and fear,
While she would have no man see,
Makes the world know I am there.
I resolve to play my sun,
And misguide my chariot fire:
All the sky to overcome,
And enflame with my desire.
I gave reigns to this conceit,
Hope went on the wheels of lust:
Fancy's scales are false of weight,
Thoughts take thought that go of trust,
I stepped forth to touch the sky,
I a god by Cupid dreams,
Cynthia who did naked lie,
Runs away like silver streams;
Leaving hollow banks behind,
Who can neither forward move,
Nor if rivers be unkind,
Turn away or leave to love.
There stand I, like Arctic Pole,
Where Sol passeth o'er the line,
Mourning my benighted soul,
Which so loseth light divine.
There stand I like men that preach
From the execution place,
At their death content to teach
All the world with their disgrace:
He that lets his Cynthia lie,
Naked on a bed of play,
To say prayers ere she die,
Teacheth time to run away:
Let no love-desiring heart,
In the stars go seek his fate,
Love is only nature's art,
Wonder hinders love and hate.
None can well behold with eyes,
But what underneath him lies.