Classic Poem

Dried hath th'injurious Fever those faire Flowers,
Which in the cheekes of my faire ALBA lay:
Scorcht are those paradized coloured Bowers,
LOVES LOBBIE where he wantonly did play:
 Yet not extinguisht is mine amorous flame,
 Some sparkes are yet remainders of the same.

As she lookes now, so lookes the Moone in skies,
When mongst the gloomie clowdes portending raine,
She with her watrie horned head forth pries,
Spreading abrode her dewie beames amaine:
 So we Aurora use for to depaint,
 Mongst palish violets, when she looketh faint.

Pitie is mixt with griefe in her faire face,
And Griefe with Pitie in the same conjoyne,
Where LOVE (though sick) sits with a lovely grace,
In midst of sickly palenes in her eyne.
 Sicknes it selfe so lovely nere did looke,
 But since her Inne in ALBAS breast she tooke.

That stately Haughtines she had before,
Now changde is into low Humilitie:
And that same glance that faithles was of yore,
Now faithfull sheweth and full of Loyaltie.
 So with her Colour if she did Cruell take,
 Yet Pitifull her Palenes doth her make.