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 13. In that proud port which her so goodly graceth
2. Amoretti 46. When my abodes prefixed time is spent
3. Amoretti 23. Penelope, for her Ulisses sake
4. Amoretti 42. The love which me so cruelly tormenteth
5. Amoretti 82. Ioy of my life! full oft for loving you

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