Poetry of Spenser

Edmund Spenser
born 1553, died 1598-99

Sonnet

Like as the culver, on the bared bough,
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate,
And in her songs sends many a wishful vow
For his return, that seems to linger late:
So I alone, now left disconsolate,
Mourn to myself the absence of my Love;
And wand'ring here and there all desolate,
Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove;
Ne joy of aught that under heaven doth hove,
Can comfort me but her own joyous sight;
Whose sweet aspect both God and man can move,
In her unspotted pleasance to delight.
Dark is my way, whiles her fair light I miss,
And death my life, that wants such lively bliss.

>> Edmund Spenser

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