Classic Poem

A frenzy whirls me to and fro!
I shall see her again in a few short hours,
Herself who is flower of maiden-flowers.
Oh faithful heart, why beatest thou so?

But the hours indeed are a lazy lot,
They crawl along and linger and shirk,
Yawn and dawdle over their work.
Tumble up, ye lazy lot!

Clamouring speed in my spirit I feel!
Surely the Hours know nought of love's aching.
Secret their pitiless league they are making,
Ever to jeer at the true lover's zeal.