Poem by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti 20. In vaine I seeke and sew to her for grace

In vaine I seeke and sew to her for grace,
And doe myne humbled hart before her poure,
The whiles her foot she in my necke doth place,
And tread my life downe in the lowly floure*.
And yet the lyon, that is lord of power,
And reigneth over every beast in field,
In his most pride disdeigneth to devoure
The silly lambe that to his might doth yield.
But she, more cruell and more salvage wylde
Than either lyon or the lyonesse,
Shames not to be with guiltlesse bloud defylde,
But taketh glory in her cruelnesse.
  Fayrer then fayrest! let none ever say
  That ye were blooded in a yeelded pray.

[* Floure, floor, ground] 

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 80. After so long a race as I have run
5. Amoretti 36. Tell me, when shall these wearie woes have end

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