Classic Poem

Returne my thoughts, why fly you soe?
Sorrows may my good outgoe,
Phantsie's butt phantasticks skill
The soule alone hath onely will,

Heathen people had their Gods
Whom they implor'd to have the odds
Of mortalls all, butt 't'would nott bee
For Love was high'st inthron'd to see,

Soe love of all things hath most sight,
And noe thing more then love is light,
Then Cupid take thy honor right:
Thou'rt neither God, nor Earthly sprite.