Classic Poem

The soldier worn with wars, delights in peace,
The pilgrim in his ease, when toils are past;
The ship to gain the port, when storms do cease;
And I rejoice discharged from Love at last,
Whom while I served, peace, rest, and land I lost,
With wars, with toils, with storms, worn, tired and tost.

Sweet liberty now gives me leave to sing,
What world it was, where Love the rule did bear;
How foolish chance by lots ruled ev'ry thing,
How error was main sail, each wave a tear,
The master Love himself, deep sighs were wind,
Cares rowed with vows, the ship a pensive mind.

False hope the helm, oft turned the ship about,
Inconstant faith stood up for middle mast;
Despair the cable, twisted all with doubt,
Held griping grief the piked anchor fast:
Beauty was all the rocks, but I at last,
Have gained the port, and now my love is past.