Classic Poem

Sleep, wayward thoughts, and rest you with my love;
Let not my love be with my love displeased;
Touch not, proud hands, lest you her anger move,
But pine you with my longings long diseased.
Thus, while she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake;
So sleeps my love — and yet my love doth wake.

But O the fury of my restless fear,
The hidden anguish of my chaste desires;
The glories and the beauties that appear
Between her brows, near Cupid's closed fires!
Sleep, dainty love, while I sigh for thy sake;
So sleeps my love — and yet my love doth wake.