Classic Poem

Fair is thy face, and that thou know'st too well,
Hard is thy heart, and that thou wilt not know:
Thou hear'st and smil'st, when I thy praises tell;
But stop'st thine ears when I my grief would show:
Yet though in vain, needs must I speak,
Or else my swelling heart would break.

And when I speak, my breath doth blow the fire,
With which my burning heart consumes away;
I call upon thy name, and help require,
Thy dearest name, which doth me still betray:
For grace, sweet Grace, thy name doth sound,
Yet ah! in thee no grace is found.

Alas, to what part shall I then appeal?
Thy face so fair disdains to look on me;
Thy tongue commands my heart his grief conceal;
Thy nimble feet from me do always flee;
Thine eyes cast fire to burn my heart,
And thou rejoicest in my smart.

Then, since thou seest the life I lead in pain,
And that for thee I suffer all this grief;
Oh let my heart this small request obtain,
That thou agree it pine without relief!
I ask not love, for my good will,
But leave that I may love thee still.

QUID MINUS OPTARI PER MEA VOTA POTEST ?