Classic Poem

I curse the night, yet doth from day mee hide,
The Pandionian birds I tyre with mones,
The ecchoes euen are weari'd with my grones,
Since absense did mee from my blisse diuide.
Each dreame, each toy my reason doth affright,
And when remembrance reades the curious scroule
Of pass'd contentments caused by her sight,
Then bitter anguish doth inuade my soule.
While thus I liue ecclipsed of her light,
O mee! what better am I than the mole,
Or those whose zenith is the only pole,
Whose hemisphere is hid with so long night,
Saue that in earthe he rests, they hope for sunne,
I pine, and finde mine endlesse night begunne?