Edmund Spenser

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser (1552/1553 – 13 January 1599) was an English poet best known for The Faerie Queene, an epic poem and fantastical allegory celebrating the Tudor dynasty and Elizabeth I. He is recognized as one of the premier craftsmen of nascent Modern English verse, and is often considered one of the greatest poets in the English language.
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Amoretti LXXV One Day I Wrote her Name

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One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide, and made my pains his prey
"Vain man," said she, "that dost in vain assay, A mortal thing ...
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From Daphnaida

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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
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Prothalamion

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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...
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Sonnet LXXVII

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Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne,a goodly table of pure yvory:all spred with iuncats, fit to entertayne,the greatest Prince with pompous roialty
Mongst which there in a siluer dish did ly,twoo golden apples of vnualewd price:far passin...
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The Shepheardes Calender April

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April: Ægloga Quarta
Thenot & Hobbinoll
Thenot
Ell me good Hobbinoll, what garres thee greete
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Poem 94

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Athlesse the cruell boy not so content,would needs the fly pursue:
And in his hand with heedlesse hardiment,him caught for to subdue
But when on it he hasty hand did lay,the Bee him stung therefore:
Now out alasse (he cryde) and wel...
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Ruins of Rome by Bellay

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1 Ye heavenly spirits, whose ashy cinders lie Under deep ruins, with huge walls opprest,
But not your praise, the which shall never die Through your fair verses, ne in ashes rest; If so be shrilling voice of wight alive May reach from hence t...
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Poem 15

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Ing ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne,
And leaue your wonted labors for this day:
This day is holy; doe ye write it dovvne,that ye for euer it remember may
This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight,
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Poem 95

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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 m...
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Sonnet II

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Nquiet thought, whom at the first I bred,
Of th'inward bale of my loue pined hart:and sithens haue with sighes and sorrowes fed,till greater then my wombe thou woxen art
Breake forth at length out of the inner part,in which thou lurkest ...
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The Ruines of Time

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It chaunced me on day beside the
Of siluer streaming Thamesis to bee,
Nigh where the goodly Verlame stood of yore,
Of which there now remaines no memorie,
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Poem 11

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Vt if ye saw that which no eyes can see,
The inward beauty of her liuely spright,
Garnisht with heauenly guifts of high degree,
Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,
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Ice and Fire

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My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
How comes it then that this her cold so
Is not dissolved through my so hot desire,
But harder grows the more I her entreat
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Sonnet LXVII

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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...
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Sonnet LXXXI

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Fayre is my loue, when her fayre golden heares,with the loose wynd ye wauing chance to marke:fayre when the rose in her red cheekes appeares,or in her eyes the fyre of loue does sparke
Fayre when her brest lyke a rich laden barke,with pretiou...
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