Classic Poem

I am the first that ever lov'd,
He yet that for the place contends
Against true love so much offends,
That even this way it is prov'd.

For whose affection once is shown,
No longer can the World beguile,
Who see his pennance all the while,
He holds a Torch to make her known.

You are the first were ever lov'd,
And who may think this not so true,
So little knows of love or you,
It need not otherwise be prov'd.

For though the more judicious eyes
May know when Diamonds are right,
There is requir'd a greater light
Their estimate and worth to prise.

While they who most for beauty strives,
Can with no Art so lovely grow
As she who doth but only ow
So much as true affection gives.

Thus first of Lovers I appear,
For more appearance makes me none;
And thus are you belov'd alone,
That are pris'd infinitely dear.

Yet as in our Northern Clime
Rare fruits, though late, appear at last;
As we may see, some years b'ing past,
Our Orenge-trees grow ripe with time.

So think not strange, if Love to break
His wonted silence now make bold,
For when a Love is seven years old,
Is it not time to learn to speak?

Then gather in that which doth grow
And ripen to that fairest hand;
'Tis not enough that trees do stand,
If their fruit fall and perish too.