Classic Poem

R EMEMBERING this—how Love
Mocks me, and bids me hoard
Mine ill reward that keeps me nigh to death,—
How it doth still behove
I suffer the keen sword,
Whence undeplor'd I may not draw my breath
In memory of this thing
Sighing and sorrowing,
I am languid at the heart
For her to whom I bow,
Craving her pity now,
And who still turns apart.

I am dying, and through her—
This flower, from paradise
Sent in some wise, that I might have no rest.
Truly she did not err
To come before his eyes
Who fails and dies, by her sweet smile possess'd;
For, through her countenance
(Fair brows and lofty glance!)
I live in constant dule.
Of lovers' hearts the chief
For sorrow and much grief,
My heart is sorrowful.

For Love has made me weep
With sighs that do him wrong,
Since, when most strong my joy, he gave this woe.
I am broken, as a ship
Perishing of the song,
Sweet, sweet and long, the songs the sirens know.
The mariner forgets,
Voyaging in those straits,
And dies assuredly.
Yea, from her pride perverse,
Who hath my heart as hers,
Even such my death must be.

I deemed her not so fell
And hard but she would greet,
From her high seat, at length, the love I bring;
For I have loved her well;—
Nor that her face so sweet
In so much heat would keep me languishing;
Seeing that she I serve
All honour doth deserve
For worth unparallel'd.
Yet what availeth moan
But for more grief alone?
O God! that it avail'd!

Thou, my new song, shalt pray
To her, who for no end
Each day doth tend her virtues that they grow,—
Since she to love saith nay;—
(More charms she had attain'd
Than sea hath sand, and wisdom even so);—
Pray thou to her that she
For my love pity me,
Since with my love I burn,—
That of the fruit of love,
While help may come thereof,
She give to me in turn.