Classic Poem

If the birds are making lamentation, or the green banks are moved by a little wind of summer, or you can hear the waters making a stir by the shores that are green and flowery.
That's where I do be stretched out thinking Heaven shows me though hidden in the earth of love, writing my songs, and herself that I set my eyes on, and hear the way that she feels my sighs and makes an answer to me.
" Alas, " I hear her say, " why are you using yourself up before the time is come, and pouring out a stream of tears so sad and doleful.
" You'd do right to be glad rather, for in dying I won days that have no ending, and when you saw me shutting up my eyes I was opening them on the light that is eternal. "