Poem by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti 1. Happy, ye leaves! when as those lilly hands

Happy, ye leaves! when as those lilly hands
Which hold my life in their dead-doing might
Shall handle you, and hold in loves soft bands,
Lyke captives trembling at the victors sight.
And happy lines! on which, with starry light,
Those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to look,
And reade the sorrowes of my dying spright,
And happy rymes! bath’d in the sacred brooke
Of Helicon, whence she derived is,
When ye behold that Angels blessed looke,
My soules long-lacked food, my heavens blis,
  Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to please alone,
  Whom if ye please, I care for other none! 

1. Amoretti 67. Lyke as a huntsman, after weary chace
2. Amoretti 80. After so long a race as I have run
3. Amoretti 21. Was it the worke of Nature or of Art
4. Amoretti 87. Since I have lackt the comfort of that light
5. Amoretti 88. Lyke as the culver on the bared bough

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