Classic Poem

CCXXXVII

Driven by desire to set affection
A great way, alas, above my degree,
Chosen I am, I think by election,
To covet that thing that will not be.

I serve in love, not like to speed.
I look, alas, a little too high.
Against my will I do indeed
Covet that thing that will not be.

My fancy, alas, doth me so blind
That I can see no remedy
But still to follow my foolish mind
And covet that thing that will not be.

I hoped well when I began.
And since the proof is contrary,
Why should I any longer then
Covet that thing that will not be

But rather to leave now at the last
Than still to follow fantasy,
Content with the pain that is past
And not covet that thing that will not be?