Classic Poem

How, or where have I lost myself? Unhappy!
Dead nor live am I neither, and yet am both.
Through despair am I dead, by hope revived;
Weeping wake I the night from even to morning,
Sighing waste I the day from morn to evening.
Tears are drink to my thirst, by tears I thirst more;
Sighs are meat that I eat; I hunger eating;
Might I, oh that I might refrain my feeding!
Soon would ease to my heart by death be purchased.
Life and light do I lack, when I behold not
Those bright beams of her eyes, Apollo dark'ning;
Life and light do I lose when I behold them,
All as snow by the sun resolved to water.
Death and life I receive, her eyes beholding;
Death and life I refuse not in beholding,
So that, dead or alive, I may behold them.

L'ENVOY, IN RHYMING PHALEUCIACKS.

Muse not, Lady, to read so strange a metre;
Strange grief, strange remedy for ease requireth:
When sweet joy did abound, I writ the sweeter;
Now that weareth away, my muse retireth.
In you lies it alone to cure my sadness,
And therewith to revive my heart with gladness.