Poem by Edmund Spenser

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. 

1. Amoretti 61. The glorious image of the Makers beautie
2. Amoretti 14. Retourne agayne, my forces late dismayd
3. Amoretti 24. When I behold that beauties wonderment
4. Amoretti 36. Tell me, when shall these wearie woes have end
5. Amoretti 10. Unrighteous Lord of love, what law is this

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