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Amoretti: Sonnet 14 Post by :PhilG Category :Poems Author :Edmund Spenser Date :March 2011 Read :1313

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Amoretti: Sonnet 14

Retourne agayne, my forces late dismayd,
Unto the siege by you abandon'd quite.
Great shame it is to leave, like one afrayd,
So fayre a peece* for one repulse so light.
'Gaynst such strong castles needeth greater might
Then those small forts which ye were wont belay**:
Such haughty mynds, enur'd to hardy fight,
Disdayne to yield unto the first assay.
Bring therefore all the forces that ye may,
And lay incessant battery to her heart;
Playnts, prayers, vowes, ruth, sorrow, and dismay;
Those engins can the proudest love convert:
And, if those fayle, fall down and dy before her;
So dying live, and living do adore her.

(* _Peece_, fortress.)
(** _Belay_, beleaguer.)

(The end)
Edmund Spenser's poem: Amoretti: Sonnet 14

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Amoretti: Sonnet 15 Amoretti: Sonnet 15

Amoretti: Sonnet 15
Ye tradefull Merchants, that, with weary toyle,Do seeke most pretious things to make your gain,And both the Indias of their treasure spoile,What needeth you to seeke so farre in vaine?For loe, my Love doth in her selfe containeAll this worlds riches that may farre be found:If saphyres, loe, her eies be saphyres plaine;If rubies, loe, hir lips be rubies sound;If pearles, hir teeth be pearles, both pure and round;If yvorie, her forhead yvory weene;If gold, her locks are finest gold on ground;If silver, her faire hands are silver sheene: But that which fairest is but few behold:--

Amoretti: Sonnet 13 Amoretti: Sonnet 13

Amoretti: Sonnet 13
In that proud port which her so goodly graceth,Whiles her faire face she reares up to the skie,And to the ground her eie-lids low embaseth,Most goodly temperature ye may descry;Myld humblesse mixt with awful! maiestie.For, looking on the earth whence she was borne,Her minde remembreth her mortalitie,Whatso is fayrest shall to earth returne.But that same lofty countenance seemes to scorneBase thing, and thinke how she to heaven may clime;Treading downe earth as lothsome and forlorne,That hinders heavenly thoughts with drossy slime. Yet lowly still vouchsafe to looke on me; Such lowlinesse shall make you lofty be.(The end)Edmund Spenser's poem: