Classic Poem

Doe not disdaine, O streight vp-raised pine,
That, wounding thee, my thoughts in thee I graue,
Since that my thoughts, as streight as streightnesse thine,
No smaller wound — alas, far deeper — haue:
Deeper engrau'd, which salue nor time can saue,
Giu'n to my heart by my sore-wounded eyne:
Thus cruell to my selfe, how canst thou craue
My inward hurt should spare thy outward rine?
Yet still, faire tree, lift vp thy stately line,
Liue long, and long witnesse my chosen smart,
Which barr'd desires (barr'd by my selfe) impart,
And in this growing barke grow verses mine;
My heart my word, my word hath giu'n my hart.
The giuer giu'n from gift shall neuer part.