Classic Poem

My fayre, looke from those turrets of thine eyes,
Into the Ocean of a troubled minde,
Where my poore soule, the Barke of sorrow lyes,
Left to the mercy of the waves and winde.

See where shee flotes, laden with purest love,
Which those fayre Ilands of thy lookes affoord,
Desiring yet a thousand deaths to prove,
Then so to cast her Ballast over boord.

See how her sayles be rent, her tacklings worne,
Her Cable broke, her surest Anchor lost,
Her Marryners doe leave her all forlorne,
Yet how shee bends towards that blessed Coast.
Loe where she drownes, in stormes of thy displeasure,
Whose worthy prize should have enritcht thy treasure.