Poems begining by S
/ page 270 of 287 /
Sonnet LVIII By Her That Is Most Assured To Her Selfe
© Edmund Spenser
WEake is th'assurance that weake flesh reposeth,
In her owne powre and scorneth others ayde:
that soonest fals when as she most supposeth,
her selfe assurd, and is of nought affrayd.
Sonnet LVI
© Edmund Spenser
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.
Sonnet LIII
© Edmund Spenser
THe Panther knowing that his spotted hyde,
Doth please all beasts but that his looks the[m] fray:
within a bush his dreadfull head doth hide,
to let them gaze whylest he on them may pray.
Sonnet XXXVII
© Edmund Spenser
WHat guyle is this, that those her golden tresses,
She doth attyre vnder a net of gold:
and with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,
that which is gold or heare, may scarse be told?
Sonnet LXXXII
© Edmund Spenser
Ioy of my life, full oft for louing 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 loue embased.
Sonnet LXVII
© Edmund Spenser
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.
Sonnet IX
© Edmund Spenser
LOng-while I sought to what I might compare
those powrefull eies, which lighte[n] my dark spright,
yet find I nought on earth to which I dare
resemble th'ymage of their goodly light.
Sonnet LX
© Edmund Spenser
THey that in course of heauenly spheares are skild,
To euery planet point his sundry yeare:
in which her circles voyage is fulfild,
as Mars in three score yeares doth run his spheare
Sonnet LXIIII
© Edmund Spenser
COmming to kisse her lyps, (such grace I found)
Me seemd I smelt a gardin of sweet flowres:
that dainty odours from them threw around
for damzels fit to decke their louers bowres.
Sonnet XXXIIII
© Edmund Spenser
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:
Sonnet XV
© Edmund Spenser
YE tradefull Merchants that with weary toyle,
do seeke most pretious things to make your gain:
and both the Indias of their treasures spoile,
what needeth you to seeke so farre in vaine?
Sonnet XXXV
© Edmund Spenser
MY hungry eyes through greedy couetize,
still to behold the obiect of their paine:
with no contentment can themselues suffize,
but hauing pine and hauing not complaine.
Sonnet V
© Edmund Spenser
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.
So Let Us Love
© Edmund Spenser
Most glorious Lord of life! that on this day
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin,
And having harrowed hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win:
Sonnet LXXVI
© Edmund Spenser
FAyre bosome fraught with vertues richest tresure,
The neast of loue, the lodging of delight:
the bowre of blisse, the paradice of pleasure,
the sacred harbour of that heuenly spright.
Sonnet XXX
© Edmund Spenser
MY loue is lyke to yse, and I to fyre;
how comes it then that this her cold so great
is not dissolu'd through my so hot desyre,
but harder growes the more I her intreat?
Sonnet XXVI
© Edmund Spenser
SWeet is the Rose, but growes vpon a brere;
Sweet is the Iunipere, but sharpe his bough;
sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere;
sweet is the firbloome, but his braunches rough.
Sonnet I
© Edmund Spenser
HAppy ye leaues when as those lilly hands,
which hold my life in their dead doing might
shall handle you and hold in loues soft bands,
lyke captiues trembling at the victors sight.
Sonnet LIIII
© Edmund Spenser
OF this worlds Theatre in which we stay,
My loue lyke the Spectator ydly sits
beholding me that all the pageants play,
disguysing diuersly my troubled wits.
Sonnet 81
© Edmund Spenser
Fair is my love, when her fair golden hears
with the loose wind the waving chance to mark:
fair when the rose in her red cheeks appears,
or in her eyes the fire of love does spark.
