Poem by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti 8. More then most faire, full of the living fire

More then most faire, full of the living fire
Kindled above unto the Maker nere,
No eies, but ioyes, in which al powers conspire,
That to the world naught else be counted deare!
Thrugh your bright beams doth not the blinded guest
Shoot out his darts to base affections wound;
But angels come, to lead fraile mindes to rest
In chast desires, on heavenly beauty bound.
You frame my thoughts, and fashion me within;
You stop my toung, and teach my hart to speake;
You calme the storme that passion did begin,
Strong thrugh your cause, but by your vertue weak.
   Dark is the world where your light shined never;
   Well is he borne that may behold you ever.

1. Amoretti 46. When my abodes prefixed time is spent
2. Amoretti 43. Shall I then silent be, or shall I speake?
3. Amoretti 59. Thrise happie she that is so well assured
4. Amoretti 32. The paynefull smith with force of fervent heat
5. Amoretti 63. After long stormes and tempests sad assay

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