Winged with Desire — 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 placeWhere 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 meWhich shall in joys of either fortunes be.