Classic Poem

Go burning sighes, and pierce the frozen skie,
Slack you the snow with flames of fancies fire
Twixt Brutus land and Mosqua that doe lie:
Goe sighes, I say, and to the Phenix flie,
Whome I imbrace, and chieflie doe desire
Report of me that I doe loue her best,
None other Saint doth harbour in my brest.

Tell her that though the colde is wont by kinde
To quench the cole, and flames do yeeld to frost,
Yet may no winters force in Russia binde
My heart so heard, or alter so my minde,
But that I still imbrace her beautie most:
I went her friend, and so continue still,
Frost cannot freat the ground of my goodwill.

Ardo e ghiaccio.