Classic Poem

To heare my plaints, faire riuer christalline,
Thou in a silent slumber seemes to stay;
Delicious flowrs, lillie and columbine,
Yee bowe your heades when I my woes display;
Forrests, in you the mirtle, palme, and bay,
Haue had compassion listning to my grones;
The winds with sighes haue solemniz'd my mones
'Mong leaues, which whisper'd what they could not say;
The caues, the rockes, the hills the Syluans' thrones,
As if euen pitie did in them appeare,
Haue at my sorrowes rent their ruethlesse stones;
Each thing I finde hath sense except my deare,
Who doth not thinke I loue, or will not know
My griefe, perchance delighting in my woe.