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Amoretti: Sonnet 81 Post by :infoc Category :Poems Author :Edmund Spenser Date :March 2011 Read :5012

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Amoretti: Sonnet 81

Fayre is my Love, when her fayre golden haires
With the loose wynd ye waving chance to marke;
Fayre, when the rose in her red cheekes appeares,
Or in her eyes the fyre of love does sparke;
Fayre, when her brest, lyke a rich laden barke,
With pretious merchandize she forth doth lay;
Fayre, when that cloud of pryde, which oft doth dark
Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away.
But fayrest she, when so she doth display
The gate with pearles and rubyes richly dight,
Throgh which her words so wise do make their way,
To beare the message of her gentle spright.
The rest be works of Natures wonderment;
But this the worke of harts astonishment.





(The end)
Edmund Spenser's poem: Amoretti: Sonnet 81

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Ioy of my life! full oft for loving youI blesse my lot, that was so lucky placed:But then the more your owne mishap I rew,That are so much by so meane love embased.For had the equall hevens so much you gracedIn this as in the rest, ye mote invent*Some hevenly wit, whose verse could have enchasedYour glorious name in golden moniment.But since ye deignd so goodly to relentTo me your thrall, in whom is little worth,That little that I am shall all be spentIn setting your immortal prayses forth: Whose lofty argument, uplifting me, Shall lift you up unto
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