Poem by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti 21. Was it the worke of Nature or of Art

Was it the worke of Nature or of Art,
Which tempred so the feature of her face,
That pride and meeknesse, mist by equall part,
Doe both appeare t’adorne her beauties grace?
For with mild pleasance, which doth pride displace,
She to her love doth lookers eyes allure;
And with stern countenance back again doth chace
Their looser lookes that stir up lustes impure.
With such strange termes* her eyes she doth inure,
That with one looke she doth my life dismay,
And with another doth it streight recure:
Her smile me drawes; her frowne me drives away.
  Thus doth she traine and teach me with her lookes;
  Such art of eyes I never read in bookes!

[* Termes, extremes (?).] 

1. Amoretti 67. Lyke as a huntsman, after weary chace
2. Amoretti 80. After so long a race as I have run
3. Amoretti 87. Since I have lackt the comfort of that light
4. Amoretti 88. Lyke as the culver on the bared bough
5. Amoretti 12. One day I sought with her hart-thrilling eies

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