Classic Poem

Poore eyes bee blind, the light behold noe more
Since that is gon which is your deere delight
Ravish'd from you by greater powre, and might
Making your loss a gaine to others store,

Oreflowe, and drowne, till sight to you restore
That blessed star, and as in hatefull spite
Send forth your teares in flouds, to kill all sight,
And looks, that lost, wherin you joy'd before.

Bury thes beames, which in some kindled fires,
And conquer'd have theyr love-burnt-harts desires
Loosing, and yett noe gaine by you esteem'd,

Till that bright starr doe once againe apeere
Brighter then Mars when hee doth shine most cleere
See nott: then by his might bee you redeem'd.