Edmund Spenser
Sonnet LXVII
Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace, Seeing the game from him escapt away: Sits downe to rest him in some shady place, With panting hounds beguiled of their pray. So after long pursuit
Sonnet XL
MArk when she smiles with amiable cheare, And tell me whereto can ye lyken it: When on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare, An hundred Graces as in shade to sit. Lykest it seemeth in
Sonnet LXXXIX
LYke as the Culuer on the bared bough, Sits mourning for the absence of her mate; And in her songs sends many a wishfull vew, For his returne that seemes to linger late. So
Sonnet 75
One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away: Agayne I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tyde, and made my paynes his
Whilst it is prime
FRESH Spring, the herald of loves mighty king, In whose cote-armour richly are displayd All sorts of flowers, the which on earth do spring, In goodly colours gloriously arrayd Goe to my love, where
Amoretti III: The Sovereign Beauty
The sovereign beauty which I do admire, Witness the world how worthy to be praised: The light whereof hath kindled heavenly fire In my frail spirit, by her from baseness raised; That being now
Sonnet LXXVII
Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne, A goodly table of pure yvory: All spred with iuncats, fit to entertayne, The greatest Prince with pompous roialty. Mongst which there in a
A Ditty
In praise of Eliza, Queen of the Shepherds SEE where she sits upon the grassie greene, (O seemely sight!) Yclad in Scarlot, like a mayden Queene, And ermines white: Upon her head a Cremosin
Sonnet LVI
FAyre ye be sure, but cruell and vnkind, As is a Tygre that with greedinesse Hunts after bloud, when he by chance doth find A feeble beast, doth felly him oppresse. Fayre be ye
Poem 6
My loue is now awake out of her dreame, And her fayre eyes like stars that dimmed were With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly beams More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere.
Sonnet LII
SO oft as homeward I from her depart, I goe lyke one that hauing lost the field: Is prisoner led away with heauy hart, Despoyld of warlike armes and knowen shield. So doe I
Sonnet XLII
THe loue which me so cruelly tormenteth, So pleasing is in my extreamest paine: That all the more my sorrow it augmenteth, The more I loue and doe embrace my bane. Ne doe I
Sonnet V
RVdely thou wrongest my deare harts desire, In finding fault with her too portly pride: The thing which I doo most in her admire, Is of the world vnworthy most enuide. For in those
Sonnet XXXIII
GReat wrong I doe, I can it not deny, To that most sacred Empresse my dear dred, Not finishing her Queene of faery, That mote enlarge her liuing prayses dead: But lodwick, this of
Sonnet XVI
ONe day as I vnwarily did gaze On those fayre eyes my loues immortall light: The whiles my stonisht hart stood in amaze, Through sweet illusion of her lookes delight. I mote perceiue how