Classic Poem

If my decay be your increase;
If my distress be your delight;
If war in me procure your peace;
If wrong to me, to you be right;
I would, decay, distress, war, wrong,
Might end the life that ends so long.

Yet, if by my decay you grow,
When I am spent your growth is past;
If from my grief your joy do flow,
When my grief ends, your joy flies fast:
Then for your sake, though to my pain,
I strive to live, to die full fain.

For if I die, my war must cease;
Then can I suffer wrong no more:
My war once done, farewell your peace;
My wrong your right doth still restore:
Thus for your right I suffer wrong;
And for your peace my war prolong.

But since no thing can long endure,
That sometime hath not needful rest;
What can my life your joy assure,
If still I wail, with grief opprest?
The strongest stomach faints at last
For want of ease and due repast.

My restless sighs break out so fast,
That time to breathe they quite deny:
Mine eyes so many tears have cast,
That now the springs themselves are dry:
Then grant some little ease from pain,
Until the spring be full again.

The giant whom the vulture gnaws,
Until his heart be grown, hath peace:
And Sisyphus, by hellish laws,
Whilst that the stone rolls down, doth cease:
But all in vain I strive for rest,
Which breeds more sorrow in my breast.

Let my decay be your increase,
Let my distress be your delight:
Let war in me procure your peace,
Let wrong in me to you be right;
That by my grief your joy may live,
Vouchsafe some little rest to give.