A poem

This is attributed to Elizabeth I –

I grieve and dare not show my discontent;
I love, but am forced to hate;
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant;
I seem stark mute, yet inwardly do prate.
I am and not, I freeze yet am burned;
Since from myself my other self I turned.

My care is like my shadow in the sun;
Follows me flying, flees when I pursue it;
Stands and lies by me, does what I have done.
His too familiar care does make me rue it.
No means to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be suppressed.

Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow.
Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.
Let me float or sink, be high or low.
Or let me live with some more sweet content.
Or else die, and so forget what love ever meant.

This sums up my life at the moment.
K