Classic Poem

Divinest Syren, cruell faire;
Cause of my life, and my despaire;
Griefe that descends to words is weake;
But mine is full and cannot speake:
For how can Fate more cruell be,
Then to grant life, denying thee?
Yet I in death hope to adore
Those joyes without which life is poore:
My reason's banish'd by my paine;
Who can lose thee, and it retaine?
How soon was my calme soule dejected,
And ruine suffer'd ere expected!
But since that blisse which once was mine,
Thou to another wilt resigne,
Be happy in thy choice; whilst I
In unregarded ashes lye,
Be happy in him; 'tis unfit
To wish thee joy and hinder it.
Then finish what thou hast begun,
Encrease my griefe, and kill me soon.
And when I'me dead let pitty move thee,
But to remember I did love thee.