Classic Poem

Bid me not go where neither suns nor showers
Do make or cherish flowers;
Where discontented things in sadness lie,
And Nature grieves as I;
——When I am parted from those eyes,
——From which my better day doth rise,
Though some propitious power
Should plant me in a bower,
Where amongst happy lovers I might see
How showers and sun-beams bring
One everlasting spring,
Nor would those fall, nor these shine forth to me:
——Nature herself to him is lost,
——Who loseth her he honours most.
Then, fairest, to my parting view display
——Your graces all in one full day;
Whose blessëd shapes I 'll snatch and keep, till when
——I do return and view again:
So, by this art, fancy shall fortune cross,
And lovers live by thinking on their loss.