Poem by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti 81. Fayre is my Love, when her fayre golden haires

Fayre is my Love, when her fayre golden haires
With the loose wynd ye waving chance to marke;
Fayre, when the rose in her red cheekes appeares,
Or in her eyes the fyre of love does sparke;
Fayre, when her brest, lyke a rich laden barke,
With pretious merchandize she forth doth lay;
Fayre, when that cloud of pryde, which oft doth dark
Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away.
But fayrest she, when so she doth display
The gate with pearles and rubyes richly dight,
Throgh which her words so wise do make their way,
To beare the message of her gentle spright.
  The rest be works of Natures wonderment;
  But this the worke of harts astonishment. 

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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