Classic Poem

Shall I say that I love you,
Daphne disdainful?
Sore it costs as I prove you,
Loving is painful.

Shall I say what doth grieve me?
Lovers lament it.
Daphne will not relieve me;
Late I repent it.

Shall I die, shall I perish,
Through her unkindness?
Love, untaught love to cherish,
Showeth his blindness.

Shall the hills, shall the valleys,
The fields, the city,
With the sound of my outcries,
Move her to pity?

The deep falls of fair rivers
And the winds turning
Are the true music-givers
Unto my mourning;

Where my flocks daily feeding,
Pining for sorrow
At their master's heart-bleeding,
Shot with Love's arrow.

From her eyes to my heart-string
Was the shaft lancid;
It made all the woods to ring,
By which it glancid.

When this nymph had used me so,
Then did she hide her;
Hapless I did Daphne know,
Hapless I spied her.

Thus turtle-like I wailed me,
For my love's losing;
Daphne's trust thus did fail me:
Woe worth such choosing!