Classic Poem

Sitting alone upon my thought, in melancholy mood,
In sight of sea, and at my back an ancient hoary wood,
I saw a fair young lady come, her secret tears to wail,
Clad all in colour of a vow, and covered with a veil.
Yet, for the day was clear and calm, I might discern her face,
As one might see a damask rose, though hid with crystal glass.
Three times with her soft hand full hard on her left side she knocks,
And sighed so sore as might have moved some mercy in the rocks.
From sighs, and shedding amber tears, into sweet song she brake,
And thus the echo answered her to every word she spake.

" O heavens", quoth she, " who was the first that bred in me this fever?" Echo : Vere.
" Who was the first that gave the wound, whose scar I wear for ever?" Echo : Vere.
" What tyrant Cupid to my harms usurps the golden quiver?" Echo : Vere.
" What wight first caught this heart, and can from bondage it deliver?" Echo : Vere.
" Yet who doth most adore this wight, O hollow caves, tell true?" Echo : You.
" What nymph deserves his liking best, yet doth in sorrow rue?" Echo : You.
" What makes him not regard good will with some remorse or ruth?" Echo : Youth.
" What makes him show, besides his birth, such pride and such untruth?" Echo : Youth.
" May I his beauty match with love, if he my love will try?" Echo ; aye.
" May I requite his birth with faith? Then faithful will I die." Echo : Aye.

And I that knew this lady well,
Said: " Lord, how great a miracle,
To hear the echo tell the truth,
As 'twere Apollo's oracle".