Classic Poem

In vaine I haunt the colde and siluer springs,
To quench the feuer burning in my vaines;
In vaine, loue's pilgrime, mountaines, dales, and plaines
I ouer-runne; vain helpe long absence brings:
In vaine, my friends, your counsell me constraines
To flie, and place my thoughts on other things.
Ah! like the bird that fired hath her wings,
The more I moue, the greater are my paines.
Desire, alas! Desire, a Zeuxis new,
From Indies borrowing gold, from westerne skies
Most bright Cynoper, sets before mine eyes
In euery place, her haire, sweet looke, and hew;
That flie, runne, rest I, all doth proue but vaine,
My life lies in those lookes which haue me slaine.