Classic Poem

If , as thou say'st, thy love tormenteth thee,
That thou thereby wast in the fear of death,
Messer Onesto, couldst thou bear to be
Far from Love's self, and breathing other breath?
Nay, thou wouldst pass beyond the greater sea
(I do not speak of the Alps, an easy path),
For thy life's gladdening; if so to see
That light which for my life no comfort hath,
But rather makes my grief the bitterer:
For I have neither ford nor bridge — no course
To reach my lady, or send word to her.
And there is not a greater pain, I think,
Than to see waters at the limpid source,
And to be much athirst, and not to drink.