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Poem by Edmund Spenser Amoretti 18. The rolling wheele that runneth often round The rolling wheele that runneth often round, The hardest steele, in tract of time doth teare: And drizling drops, that often doe redound*, The firmest flint doth in continuance weare: Yet cannot I, with many a drooping teare And long intreaty, soften her hard hart, That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to heare, Or looke with pitty on my payneful smart. But when I pleade, she bids me play my part; And when I weep, she sayes, teares are but water; And when I sigh, she sayes, I know the art; And when I waile, she turnes hir selfe to laughter. So do I weepe, and wayle, and pleade in vaine, Whiles she as steele and flint doth still remayne. [* Redound, overflow.] Edmund Spenser Edmund Spenser's other poems:
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