Poem by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti 37. What guyle is this, that those her golden tresses

What guyle is this, that those her golden tresses
She doth attyre under a net of gold,
And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,
That which is gold or haire may scarse be told?
Is it that mens frayle eyes, which gaze too bold,
She may entangle in that golden snare;
And, being caught, may craftily enfold
Their weaker harts, which are not wel aware?
Take heed therefore, myne eyes, how ye doe stare
Henceforth too rashly on that guilefull net,
In which if ever ye entrapped are,
Out of her bands ye by no meanes shall get.
  Fondnesse it were for any, being free,
  To covet fetters, though they golden bee! 

1. Amoretti 5. Then was the faire Dodonian tree far seene
2. Amoretti 65. The doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre Love, is vaine
3. Amoretti 11. Dayly when I do seeke and sew for peace
4. Amoretti 41. Is it her nature, or is it her will
5. Amoretti 77. Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne?

Print

5304 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version