Classic Poem

I am so desolate,
Genius sighs—
Come, Love, and be my mate,
Give me thine eyes.

I am aweary,
Love, give me rest;
Leave me not dreary,
Give me thy breast.

The lark looks to heaven,
The flower to the sun;
But my heart is sore riven
For thy beauty, sweet one.

Give me thy presence,
My life to eufold;
Then care and sorrow hence,
My life thou shalt hold.