Classic Poem

The summer sun, that scalds the ground with heat,
And burns the grass, and dries the river's source,
With milder beams the farthest earth doth beat,
When through the frozen Goat he runs his course:
The fire, that burns whatever comes to hand,
Doth hardly heat that farthest off doth stand.

Not so the heat that sets my heart on fire
By distance slakes, and lets me cool again:
But still, the farther off, the more desire,
The absent fire doth burn with hotter pain.
My lady's presence burnt me with desire;
Her absence turns me into flaming fire.

Whoso hath seen the flame that burneth bright,
By outward cold in narrow room supprest,
Increase in heat, and rage with greater might,
May guess what force of fire torments my breast:
So run the swelling streams with double force,
Where locks or piles are set to stay their course.

For when my heart perceived her parting near,
By whose sweet sight he lives, that else should die;
It closed itself to keep those beams so clear,
Which from her look had pierced it through the eye:
The fiery beams, which would break out so fain,
By seeking vent, increase my burning pain.

But if my Dear return alive and sound,
That these mine eyes may see her beauty bright,
My heart shall spread with joy that shall abound,
And open wide, receiving clearer light:
She shall recover that which I possess,
And I thereby enjoy no whit the less.