Classic Poem

X.
Long have mine eies gaz'd with delight,
Conveying hopes unto my soule;
In nothing happy, but in sight
Of her, that doth my sight controule:
But now mine eies must loose their light.

My object now must be the aire,
To write in water words of fire,
And teach sad thoughts how to despaire:
Desert must quarrell with desire.
All were appeas'd were she not faire.

For all my comfort, this I prove,
That Venus on the Sea was borne:
If Seas be calme, then doth she love,
If stormes arise, I am forlorne:
My doubtfull hopes like wind doc move.