Poem 13
Behold whiles she before the altar stands Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes And blesseth her with his two happy hands, How the red roses flush vp in her cheekes, And the
A Hymn Of Heavenly Beauty
Rapt with the rage of mine own ravish’d thought, Through contemplation of those goodly sights, And glorious images in heaven wrought, Whose wondrous beauty, breathing sweet delights Do kindle love in high-conceited sprights; I
Sonnet LXII
THe weary yeare his race now hauing run, The new begins his compast course anew: With shew of morning mylde he hath begun, Betokening peace and plenty to ensew, So let vs, which this
Sonnet 54
Of this worlds theatre in which we stay, My love like the spectator ydly sits Beholding me that all the pageants play, Disguysing diversly my troubled wits. Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits,
Sonnet XXXIIII
Lyke as a ship that through the Ocean wyde, By conduct of some star doth make her way. Whenas a storme hath dimd her trusty guyde. Out of her course doth wander far astray:
The Shepheardes Calender: April
APRILL: Ægloga QuartaTHENOT & HOBBINOLL Tell me good Hobbinoll, what garres thee greete? What? hath some Wolfe thy tender Lambes ytorne? Or is thy Bagpype broke, that soundes so sweete? Or art thou of
Prothalamion
Calm was the day, and through the trembling air Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan’s beams, which then did glister fair; When I (whom sullen care,
Amoretti XXII: This Holy Season
This holy season, fit to fast and pray, Men to devotion ought to be inclin’d: Therefore I likewise on so holy day, For my sweet saint some service fit will find. Her temple fair
Sonnet LXVIII
MOst glorious Lord of lyfe that on this day, Didst make thy triumph ouer death and sin: And hauing harrowd hell didst bring away, Captiuity thence captiue vs to win. This ioyous day, deare
Ruins of Rome, by Bellay
1 Ye heavenly spirits, whose ashy cinders lie Under deep ruins, with huge walls opprest, But not your praise, the which shall never die Through your fair verses, ne in ashes rest; If so
Mutability
When I bethink me on that speech whilere, Of Mutability, and well it weigh: Me seems, that though she all unworthy were Of the Heav’ns Rule; yet very sooth to say, In all things
Sonnet XLVII
TRust not the treason of those smyling lookes, Vntill ye haue theyr guylefull traynes well tryde: For they are lyke but vnto golden hookes, That from the foolish fish theyr bayts doe hyde: So
Sonnet XLVIII
INnocent paper whom too cruell hand, Did make the matter to auenge her yre: And ere she could thy cause wel vnderstand, Did sacrifize vnto the greedy fyre. Well worthy thou to haue found
Sonnet XXIIII
WHen I behold that beauties wonderment, And rare perfection of each goodly part; Of natures skill the only complement, I honor and admire the makers art. But when I feele the bitter balefull smart,
Sonnet XIX
THe merry Cuckow, messenger of Spring, His trompet shrill hath thrise already sounded: That warnes al louers wayt vpon their king, Who now is comming forth with girland crouned. With noyse whereof the quyre