Classic Poem

Vnhappy Pen, and ill-accepted lines
That intimate in vaine my chaste desire:
My chaste desire, which from darke sorrow shines,
Inkindled by her eyes celestiall fire.
Celestiall fire, and vnrespecting powres
Which pitty not the wounds made by their might,
Shew'd in these lines, the worke of carefull houres,
The sacrifice here offred to her sight.
But since she weighs them not, this rests for me,
Ile mone my selfe, and hide the wrong I haue:
And so content me that her frownes should be
To m'infant stile the Cradle, and the Graue.
What though my Muse no honor get thereby,
Each Bird sings to her selfe, and so will I.