Edmund Spenser (Эдмунд Спенсер)

Amoretti 23. Penelope, for her Ulisses sake

Penelope, for her Ulisses sake,
Deviz’d a web her wooers to deceave;
In which the worke that she all day did make,
The same at night she did againe unreave.
Such subtile craft my damzell doth conceave,
Th’importune suit of my desire to shonne:
For all that I in many dayes do weave,
In one short houre I find by her undonne.
So when I thinke to end that I begonne,
I must begin and never bring to end:
For with one looke she spils that long I sponne,
And with one word my whole years work doth rend.
  Such labour like the spyders web I fynd,
  Whose fruitlesse worke is broken with least wynd. 

1. Amoretti 67. Lyke as a huntsman, after weary chace
2. Amoretti 80. After so long a race as I have run
3. Amoretti 21. Was it the worke of Nature or of Art
4. Amoretti 87. Since I have lackt the comfort of that light
5. Amoretti 12. One day I sought with her hart-thrilling eies

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