Classic Poem

CCXXIV

Complaining, alas, without redress,
Thus woefully do I my life lead,
My heart lamenting in heaviness,
Through whose meekness I am near dead.

Thus I endure always in pain,
Devoid of pity, as in this case,
Yet my poor heart cannot refrain;
Wherefore, alas, I die, alas.

So unkind, alas, saw I never none,
So hard-hearted, so much without pity,
As she to whom I make my moan;
Wherefore, alas, I die, I die.

Where I love best I am refused;
Where I am loved I do not pass;
Where I would fainest, I am disdained;
Wherefore I die, alas, alas.

Comfortless, complaining, thus I remain;
Merciless, remaining without remedy;
Cruelness increasing through false disdain;
Pitiless remaining, alas, I die, I die.

But from henceforth I hold it best
Them for to love that loveth me;
And then my heart shall have some rest,
Where now for pain I die, I die.