Poems: The First Part XXIV by William Drummond Lyrics

In mind's pure glass when I myself behold,
And vively see how my best days are spent,
What clouds of care above my head are roll'd,
What coming harms which I can not prevent:
My begun course I, wearied, do repent,
And would embrace what reason oft hath told;
But scarce thus think I, when love hath controll'd
All the best reasons reason could invent.
Though sure I know my labour's end is grief,
The more I strive that I the more shall pine,
That only death can be my last relief:
Yet when I think upon that face divine,
Like one with arrow shot in laughter's place,
Malgré my heart, I joy in my disgrace.