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Edmund Spenser (Эдмунд Спенсер)


Amoretti 79. Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it


Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it,
For that your selfe ye daily such doe see:
But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit
And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of me.
For all the rest, how ever fayre it be,
Shall turne to nought and lose that glorious hew;
But onely that is permanent, and free
From frayle corruption that doth flesh ensew.
That is true beautie: that doth argue you
To be divine, and born of heavenly seed,
Deriv’d from that fayre Spirit from whom all true
And perfect beauty did at first proceed.
  He only fayre, and what he fayre hath made;
  All other fayre, lyke flowres, untymely fade. 



Edmund Spenser's other poems:
  1. Amoretti 46. When my abodes prefixed time is spent
  2. Amoretti 43. Shall I then silent be, or shall I speake?
  3. Amoretti 59. Thrise happie she that is so well assured
  4. Amoretti 32. The paynefull smith with force of fervent heat
  5. Amoretti 63. After long stormes and tempests sad assay


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