Classic Poem

I AM so desolate, —
Genius sighs —
Come, Love, and be my mate,
Give me thine eyes.

I am aweary,
Love, give me rest;
Leave me not dreary,
Give me thy breast.

The lark looks to heaven,
The flower to the sun;
But my heart is sore riven
For thy beauty, sweet one.

Give me thy presence,
My life to enfold;
Then care and sorrow hence,
That life shalt thou hold.