Poem by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti 37. What guyle is this, that those her golden tresses

What guyle is this, that those her golden tresses
She doth attyre under a net of gold,
And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,
That which is gold or haire may scarse be told?
Is it that mens frayle eyes, which gaze too bold,
She may entangle in that golden snare;
And, being caught, may craftily enfold
Their weaker harts, which are not wel aware?
Take heed therefore, myne eyes, how ye doe stare
Henceforth too rashly on that guilefull net,
In which if ever ye entrapped are,
Out of her bands ye by no meanes shall get.
  Fondnesse it were for any, being free,
  To covet fetters, though they golden bee! 

1. Amoretti 46. When my abodes prefixed time is spent
2. Amoretti 13. In that proud port which her so goodly graceth
3. Amoretti 82. Ioy of my life! full oft for loving you
4. Amoretti 23. Penelope, for her Ulisses sake
5. Amoretti 69. The famous warriors of the anticke world

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