Classic Poem

Wounded with grief, I weep, and sigh, and plain;
Yet neither plaints, nor sighs, nor tears do good,
But all in vain I strive against the flood,
Gaining but grief for grief, and pain for pain.
Yet though in vain my tears my cheeks distain,
Leaving engraven sorrow where they stood;
And though my sighs consuming up my blood,
For love deserved, reap undeserved disdain;
And though in vain I know I beg remorse
At your remorseless heart, more hard than steel;
Yet such, alas, such is your beauty's force,
Charming my sense, that though this hell I feel,
Though neither plaints, nor sighs, nor tears can move you,
Yet must I still persist ever to love you.