Edmund Spenser (Эдмунд Спенсер)

Amoretti 23. Penelope, for her Ulisses sake

Penelope, for her Ulisses sake,
Deviz’d a web her wooers to deceave;
In which the worke that she all day did make,
The same at night she did againe unreave.
Such subtile craft my damzell doth conceave,
Th’importune suit of my desire to shonne:
For all that I in many dayes do weave,
In one short houre I find by her undonne.
So when I thinke to end that I begonne,
I must begin and never bring to end:
For with one looke she spils that long I sponne,
And with one word my whole years work doth rend.
  Such labour like the spyders web I fynd,
  Whose fruitlesse worke is broken with least wynd. 

1. Amoretti 59. Thrise happie she that is so well assured
2. Amoretti 32. The paynefull smith with force of fervent heat
3. Amoretti 49. Fayre Cruell! why are ye so fierce and cruell?
4. Amoretti 46. When my abodes prefixed time is spent
5. Amoretti 73. Being my self captyved here in care

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1698

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