Classic Poem

If mine eyes can speake to doe heartie errand,
Or mine eyes' language she doe hap to iudge of,
So that eyes' message be of her receiued,
Hope, we doe liue yet.
But if eyes faile then when I most doe need them,
Or if eyes' language be not vnto her knowne,
So that eyes' message doe returne reiected,
Hope, we do both die.
Yet dying and dead, doe we sing her honour;
So become our tombes monuments of her praise,
So becomes our losse the triumph of her gaine;
Hers be the glorie.
If the spheares senselesse doe yet hold a musique,
If the swan's sweete voice be not heard but at death,
If the mute timber when it hath the life lost
Yeeldeth a lute's tune;
Are then humane mindes priuiledg'd so meanly,
As that hatefull Death can abridge them of powre
With the vowe of truth to record to all worlds
That we be her spoiles?
Thus, not ending, ends the due praise of her praise:
Fleshly vaile consumes; but a soule hath his life,
Which is held in loue; loue it is that hath ioynd
Life to this our soule.
But if eyes can speake to do hearty errand,
Or mine eyes' language she doth hap to iudge of,
So that eyes' message be of her receiued,
Hope, we doe liue yet.