Poem by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti 65. The doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre Love, is vaine

The doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre Love, is vaine,
That fondly feare to lose your liberty,
When, losing one, two liberties ye gayne,
And make him bond that bondage earst did fly.
Sweet be the bands the which true love doth tye,
Without constraynt or dread of any ill:
The gentle birde feeles no captivity
Within her cage, but sings, and feeds her fill.
There pride dare not approch, nor discord spill
The league twixt them that loyal love hath bound,
But simple Truth and mutual Good-will
Seeks with sweet peace to salve each others wound:
  There Fayth doth fearless dwell in brasen towre,
  And spotlesse Pleasure builds her sacred bowre. 

1. Amoretti 46. When my abodes prefixed time is spent
2. Amoretti 13. In that proud port which her so goodly graceth
3. Amoretti 42. The love which me so cruelly tormenteth
4. Amoretti 23. Penelope, for her Ulisses sake
5. Amoretti 69. The famous warriors of the anticke world

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