Classic Poem

Raising my hopes on hills of high desire,
Thinking to scale the heauen of her hart,
My slender meanes presum'd too high a part;
Her thunder of disdaine forst me retire,
And threw me downe to paine in all this fire,
Where loe I languish in so heauy smart,
Because th'attempt was farre aboue my art:
Her pride brook'd not poore soules should so aspire.
Yet I protest my high desiring will
Was not to dispossesse her of her right:
Her soueraignty should haue remained still,
I onely sought the blisse to haue her sight.
Her sight contented thus to see me spill,
Fram'd my desires fit for her eyes to kill.