Classic Poem

MO unt Etnas flames may peraduenture cease,
Yet my true heart shall burne still in a low,
The swelling streames o're bankes and brayes that flow,
By miracle may stay their swiftest race;
But restlesse streames of liqui'd teares (alasse)
Shall neuer stay from my poore eies to rin,
The congeald ice longe frozen may grow thin,
By the reflex of bright Appolloes face;
But ah! my hopes shall freeze still in dispaire,
Til I enioy againe faire Caelias fight,
Whose beauties beames which shin'd o're me so bright,
Through longsome absence thus procures my care.
Sweet Caelia then make speed my flames to quench,
To raise my hopes and those my teares to stanch.