Classic Poem

CCXXXVIII

Shall she never out of my mind,
Nor shall I never out of this pain?
Alas, here she doth me so bind
Except her help I am near slain.

I never told her of my mind,
What pain I suffer for her sake.
Alas, what means might I now find
That no displeasure with me she take?

If I speak fair she saith I flatter,
And if I do not I shall not speed.
If I to her do write a letter
Then will she say she cannot read.

Shall I despair yet for all this?
Nay, nay, my heart will not do so.
I would, once my sweetheart to kiss,
A thousand times suffer more woe.

I am abashed when I should speak.
Alas, I cannot my mind express.
It maketh my heart in pieces break
To see her loving gentleness.