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Amoretti: Sonnet 82 Post by :Alessia Category :Poems Author :Edmund Spenser Date :March 2011 Read :2906

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Amoretti: Sonnet 82

Ioy of my life! full oft for loving you
I 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 graced
In this as in the rest, ye mote invent*
Some hevenly wit, whose verse could have enchased
Your glorious name in golden moniment.
But since ye deignd so goodly to relent
To me your thrall, in whom is little worth,
That little that I am shall all be spent
In setting your immortal prayses forth:
Whose lofty argument, uplifting me,
Shall lift you up unto an high degree.

(* _Invent_, light upon, find.)

(The end)
Edmund Spenser's poem: Amoretti: Sonnet 82

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Amoretti: Sonnet 83 Amoretti: Sonnet 83

Amoretti: Sonnet 83
Let not one sparke of filthy lustfull fyreBreake out, that may her sacred peace molest;Ne one light glance of sensuall desyreAttempt to work her gentle mindes unrest:But pure affections bred in spotlesse brest,And modest thoughts breathd from well-tempred spirits,Goe visit her in her chaste bowre of rest,Accompanyde with angelick delightes.There fill your selfe with those most ioyous sights,The which my selfe could never yet attayne:But speake no word to her of these sad plights,Which her too constant stiffnesse doth constrayn. Onely behold her rare perfection, And blesse your fortunes fayre election.(The end)Edmund Spenser's poem: Amoretti: Sonnet 83

Amoretti: Sonnet 81 Amoretti: Sonnet 81

Amoretti: Sonnet 81
Fayre is my Love, when her fayre golden hairesWith 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 darkHer goodly light, with smiles she drives away.But fayrest she, when so she doth displayThe 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