Classic Poem

My heavy heart, which grief and hope torment,
Beats all in vain against my weary breast;
As if it thought with force to make a vent,
That death might enter to procure my rest.
But, foolish heart, thy pains are lost, I see;
For death and life both fly and follow thee.

When weight of care would press me down with pain,
That I might sink to depth of death below;
Hope lends me wings, and lifts me up again,
To strive for life, and live in greater woe.
So fares the boat, which winds drive to the shore,
And tides drive backward where it was before.

Thus neither hope will let me die with care,
Nor care consent that hope assure my life:
I seek for life; death doth his stroke prepare;
I come to death, and life renews my strife:
All as the shadow, follows them that fly,
And flies from them that after it do hie.

What is my hope? that hope will fail at last,
And grief get strength to work his will on me:
Either the wax with which hope's wings are fast,
By scalding sighs mine eyes shall melted see;
Or else my tears shall wet the feathers so,
That I shall fall and drown in waves of woe.