Classic Poem

Upon the Lady of my second adventure Verania

What doe we call those silent Howers which
Into Dead transes us bewitch
And such as would presage our desteny
That Living Heer we ofte must dye
But Morpheus Charmes, under the name of Night
When darknes drives away the light
And if at all Heaven bless us then'ts noe more
Than if the jewell which She wore
Were only now presented to My view
Herself the Paragon and true
Sun of my thoughts denide to Shine me on
By Earth's interposition
But my hopes tell me, as the Sun doth sett
Soe must He rise and turne the lett
Into pure Amber, Death to Life again
Mourning to Joy with His bright Wayn
And with one Smile dispell the mists which sent
Him into that short Bannishment
Soe let a Gratious Smile from Her imply
At my returne She loves: my crosses fly.