Classic Poem

Sonnet. III.

If euer sorrow spoke from soule that loues,
as speakes a spirit in a man possest,
in mee her spirit speakes, my soule it moues,
whose sigh-swolne words breed whirlwinds in my brest.
Or like the eccho of a passing bell,
which sounding on the water, seemes to howle:
so rings my hart a feareful heauie knell,
and keepes all night in consort with the Owle
My cheekes with a thin Ice of teares is clad,
mine eyes like morning starres are bleer'd and red:
what resteth then but I be raging mad,
to see that shee, (my cares cheefe conduit head)
When all streames els help quench my burning hart,
Shuts vp her springs, and will no grace impart.