Classic Poem

And do I see some cause a hope to feed,
Or doth the tedious burden of long woe,
In weakened minds, quick apprehending breed
Of every image which may comfort show?
I cannot brag of word, much less of deed;
Fortune wheels still with me in one sort slow;
My wealth no more, and no whit less my need,
Desire still on the stilts of fear doth go.
And yet amid all fears a hope there is
Stol'n to my heart, since last fair night, nay day,
Stella 's eyes sent to me the beams of bliss,
Looking on me, while I looked other way:
But when mine eyes back to their heav'n did move,
They fled with blush, which guilty seemed of love.