Classic Poem

How many times night's silent queene her face
Hath hid, how oft with starres in siluer maske
In Heauen's great hall shee hath begunne her taske,
And chear'd the waking eye in lower place!
How oft the sunne hath made by Heauen's swift race
The happie louer to forsake the brest
Of his deare ladie, wishing in the west
His golden coach to runne had larger space!
I euer count, and number, since, alas!
I bade farewell to my heart's dearest guest,
The miles I compasse, and in minde I chase
The flouds and mountaines holde mee from my rest:
But, woe is mee! long count and count may I,
Ere I see her whose absence makes mee die.