Poem by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti 57. Sweet warriour! when shall I have peace with you?

Sweet warriour! when shall I have peace with you?
High time it is this warre now ended were,
Which I no lenger can endure to sue,
Ne your incessant battry more to beare.
So weake my powres, so sore my wounds, appear,
That wonder is how I should live a iot,
Seeing my hart through-launced every where
With thousand arrowes which your eies have shot.
Yet shoot ye sharpely still, and spare me not,
But glory thinke to make these cruel stoures*.
Ye cruell one! what glory can be got,
In slaying him that would live gladly yours?
  Make peace therefore, and graunt me timely grace,
  That al my wounds will heale in little space.

[* Stoures, agitations.] 

1. Amoretti 10. Unrighteous Lord of love, what law is this
2. Amoretti 61. The glorious image of the Makers beautie
3. Amoretti 24. When I behold that beauties wonderment
4. Amoretti 52. So oft as homeward I from her depart
5. Amoretti 75. One day I wrote her name upon the strand

Print

1171 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version