Classic Poem

VVhen men shall find thy flower, thy glory passe,
And thou with carefull brow sitting alone:
Receiued hast this message from thy glasse,
That tells the truth, and sayes that all is gone;
Fresh shalt thou see in me the wounds thou madst,
Though spent thy flame, in me the heat remaining,
I that haue lou'd thee thus before thou fadst,
My faith shall waxe, when thou are in thy waining.
The world shall finde this myracle in me,
That fire can burne when all the matter's spent:
Then what my faith hath bene thy selfe shall see,
And that thou wast vnkinde, thou mayst repent.
Thou maist repent that thou hast scornd my teares,
When winter snowes vpon thy sable haires.