Classic Poem

It was then night: the sound and quiet sleep
Had through the earth the wearied bodies caught;
The woods, the raging seas were fallen to rest;
When that the stars had half their course declined
The fields whist; beasts and fowls of divers hue,
And what so that in the broad lakes remained,
Or yet among the bushy thicks of briar
Laid down to sleep by silence of the night,
Gan 'suage their cares, mindless of travels past.
Not so the sprite of this Phoenician:
Unhappy she, that on no sleep could chance,
Nor yet night's rest enter in eye or breast.
Her cares redouble; love doth rise and rage again,
And overflows with swelling storms of wrath.