Classic Poem

To me no song so sweet, no lay so soft,
As the sweet song of her who sings in grief;
Of those that sound the lyre of poetry, is none
Whose strains can penetrate the heart like thine.
Laura inspired the melancholy troubadour
Petrarca; but thee, the Muse herself inspires:
Love sweet, though unrequited, swell'd his lyre;
The graces guide thy hand, sustain thy song.
Cease not, I pray thee then, sing on for ever;
Enwrapt I listen to thy dulcet lays
Which blunt the edge of keenest suffering:
O sing again that strain so sad and sweet,
But may the tears with which thou weepest now
Be banish'd from thy heart for evermore.