Classic Poem

The Heart absent.

Sweet muse, tell me, where is my heart become?
For well I feel it is from hence away.
My senses all doth sorrow so benumb,
That absent thus, I cannot live a day.
I know for troth, there is a special place
Whereas it most desireth for to be,
For oft it leaves me thus in doleful case,
And hither comes at length again to me.
Would'st thou so fain be told where is thy heart?
Sir Fool, in place whereas it should not be,
Tied up so fast that it can never start
Till wisdom get again thy liberty;
In place where thou as safe mayst dwell, sweet daw,
As may the hart lie by the lion's paw,
And where for thee as much be sure they pass,
As did the master once for Aesop's ass.