Classic Poem

My Phillis hath the morning sun
At first to look upon her;
And Phillis hath morn-waking birds
Her risings for to honour.

My Phillis hath prime-feathered flowers
That smile when she treads on them;
And Phillis hath a gallant flock
That leaps since she doth own them.
But Phillis hath so hard a heart--
Alas that she should have it!--

As yields no mercy to desert,
Nor grace to those that crave it.
Sweet sun, when thou lookest on,
Pray her regard my moan;
Sweet birds, when you sing to her,
To yield some pity, woo her;
Sweet flowers, whenas she treads on,
Tell her, her beauty deads one.
And if in life, her love she nill agree me,
Pray her, before I die, she will come see me.