Classic Poem

If ever man had love too dearly bought,
Lo I am he that plays within her maze,
And finds no way to get the same I sought.
But as the deer are driven unto the gaze,
And to augment the grief of my desire,
Myself I burn, I blow the fire.
But shall I come nigh you?
Of force I must fly you.

What death, alas, may be compared to this?
I play within the maze of my sweet foe;
And when I would of her but crave a kiss,
Disdain enforceth her away to go.
Myself I check, yet do I twist the twine,
The pleasure hers, the pain is mine.
But shall I come nigh you?
Of force I must fly you.

You courtly wights that want your pleasant choice,
Lend me a flood of tears to wail my chance.
Happy are they in love that can rejoice
To their great pains, where fortune doth advance.
But since my suit, alas, can not prevail,
Full freight with care, in grief still will I wail.
Since you will needs fly me,
I may not come nigh you.