1 min read
Слушать(AI)Poem 95
Nto his mother straight he weeping came,and of his griefe complayned:
Who could not chose but laugh at his fond game,though sad to see him pained.
Think now (quod she) my sonne how great the smartof those whom thou dost wound:
Full many thou hast pricked to the hart,that pitty neuer found:
Therefore henceforth some pitty take,when thou doest spoyle of louers make.
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser (1552/1553 – 13 January 1599) was an English poet best known for The Faerie Queene, an epic poem and fantastical allegory celebra
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
From Daphnaida
HE fell away in her first ages spring, Whil'st yet her leafe was greene, and fresh her rinde, And whil'st her braunch faire blossomes foorth did bring, She fell away against all course of kinde
Sonnet LXVII
Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace, Seeing the game from him escapt away:sits downe to rest him in some shady place,with panting hounds beguiled of their pray So after long pursuit and vaine assay,when I all weary had the chace forsook...
The Faerie Qveene
Me thought I saw the grave where she lay Within that Temple, where the vestal flame Was won't to burne, and passing by that way To see that buried dust of living fame, Whose tomb faire love, and fairer vertue kept, All suddenly I sa...
Prothalamion
LM was the day, and through the trembling air Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair; When I (whom sullen care, Through discontent of my long fruitless stay I...
