Classic Poem

The lytle droppes off raine that fall from hye
in tyme do pearce the hardest marble stone
the dyamond whose force no force can trye
ys crased and frett with Lyons blode alone
The flames kept in, by violence at laste
doo ryve the brasse tyll they some vent have founde
the sturdye oake with wrathfull northern blaste
ys overthrowne and layde uppon the grownde
But I (o cursede love) that alweis day and night
from oute myne Eyes such store off dropps distill
and in my harte containe such flamynge lyght
and throwe my wounds my deareste blood do spill
And from my breste such blasts off sighes doo sende
yett cannott move to ruthe one ruthles frende
Who still contrarye makes her sporte and game
To see my teares my blood, my sighes and flame.