Classic Poem

Cleere shines the Sonne, yet shines it not on me,
Faire is the Morne, yet darkened is my Light,
Others the Spring, I Fall of leafe doe see,
Whilest I enjoy no Day, but gloomy Night;
Thou art the cause (sweete ALBA for thy Love,
In absence thine) these bitter Brunts I prove.

Whilest thou like Princesse entertained art,
By thy kinde Tenants in most dutious wise,
Seeking to shew the zeale of their pure Hart,
By all the pleasing meanes they can devise,
Striving who shall thee better entertaine,
(Signes of thy welcome home to them againe.)

I here am left alone, all poste alone,
As LOVES true Pledge, that lies for Faith to Pawne,
Onely to wait thy parture and to mone,
Whilest my Conceits on Sorrowes Tent are drawne,
Like to the Bird, on solitarie branch,
Wailing his Mates sowre losse through hard mischance.

Then lovely thou my Harts deare Treasurer,
Let me obtaine this Favour at thy Grace,
That thou delay no longer nor defer,
But daine me once more, see thy heavenly face.
Else here I vow, (if so thou come not soone)
Me, shalt thou not see, thou shalt see my Toome.