Classic Poem

The furious gun in his raging ire,
When that the ball is rammèd in too sore
And that the flame cannot part from the fire,
Cracketh in sunder, and in the air doth roar
The shivered pieces. Right so doth my desire
Whose flame increaseth from more to more;
Which to let out I dare not look nor speak,
So inward force my heart doth all to-break.