Winged with Desire

by Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford

Winged with desire, I seek to mount on high,
Clogged with mishap, yet am I kept full low;
Who seeks to live and finds the way to die,
Sith comfort ebbs and cares do daily flow,
But sad despair would have me to retire,
When smiling hope sets forward my desire.

I still do toil, and never am at rest,
Enjoying least when I do covet most;
With weary thoughts are my green years oppressed,
To danger drawn from my desired coast,
Now crazed with care, then haled up with hope,
With world at will, yet wanting wished scope.

I like in heart, yet dare not say I love,
And looks alone do lend me chief relief;
I dwelt sometimes at rest, yet must remove;
With feigned joy I hide my secret grief;
I would possess, yet needs must flee the place
Where I do seek to win my chiefest grace.

Lo, thus I live twixt fear and comfort tossed,
With least abode where best I feel content;
I seld resort where I should settle most;
My sliding times too soon with her are spent;
I hover high, and soar where hope doth tower,
Yet froward fate defers my happy hour.

I live abroad, but still in secret grief,
Then least alone when most I seem to lurk;
I speak of peace, and live in endless strife,
And when I play, then are my thoughts at work;
In person far, that am in mind full near,
Making light show where I esteem most dear.

A malcontent, yet seem I pleased still,
Bragging of heaven, yet feeling pains of hell;
But time shall frame a time unto my will,
Whenas in sport this earnest will I tell;
Till then, sweet friend, abide these storms with me
Which shall in joys of either fortunes be.