Classic Poem

What do these outpoured lovings prove
But the long ache to love!
O Fate! You are not kind,
To fill this chasm with cold wind.
When had a woman wealth from dreaming,
Or any solace from love's seeming?
Let it be said, that these are dexterous feignings,
Well stated heats, ingenious complainings.
And yet with loathing is my silence broken,
Had they been true, they never had been spoken.
What fuller happiness were it for me,
To leave a mummer's rages
To fill a footnote in my Love's biography,
And not these loving pages.