Edmund Spenser: Всі вірші поета

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Amoretti LXXIX: Men Call you Fair

Men call you fair, and you do credit it,

For that your self ye daily such do see:

But the true fair, that is the gentle wit,

And vertuous mind, is much more prais'd of me.

For all the rest, how ever fair it be,

Shall turn to naught and lose that glorious hue:

But only that is permanent and free

From frail corruption, that doth flesh ensue.

by Edmund Spenser

The Faerie Queene, Book III, Canto VI

THE THIRD BOOKE OF THE FAERIE QUEENE

Contayning

THE LEGENDE OF BRITOMARTIS

OR OF CHASTITIECANTO VI

The birth of faire Belphoebe and

Of Amoret is told.

The Gardins of Adonis fraught

With pleasures manifold.

by Edmund Spenser

The Faerie Queene, Book II, Canto XII

THE SECOND BOOKE OF THE FAERIE QUEENE

Contayning

THE LEGEND OF SIR GUYON,

OR OF TEMPERAUNCECANTO XIIxlii

Thence passing forth, they shortly do arrive,

Whereas the Bowre of Blisse was situate;

A place pickt out by choice of best alive,

That natures worke by art can imitate:

by Edmund Spenser

The Ruines of Time

It chaunced me on day beside the shore

Of siluer streaming Thamesis to bee,

Nigh where the goodly Verlame stood of yore,

Of which there now remaines no memorie,

Nor anie little moniment to see,

By which the trauailer, that fares that way,

This once was she, may warned be to say.

There on the other side, I did behold

by Edmund Spenser

Prothalamion

CALM 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

In prince's court, and expectation vain

Of idle hopes, which still do fly away

by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti LXVIII: Most Glorious Lord of Life

Most glorious Lord of life, that on this day,

Didst make thy triumph over death and sin:

And having harrow'd hell, didst bring away

Captivity thence captive, us to win:

This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin,

And grant that we for whom thou diddest die,

Being with thy dear blood clean wash'd from sin,

May live for ever in felicity.

by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti LXVII: Like as a Huntsman

Like as a huntsman after weary chase,

Seeing the game from him escap'd away,

Sits down to rest him in some shady place,

With panting hounds beguiled of their prey:

So after long pursuit and vain assay,

When I all weary had the chase forsook,

The gentle deer return'd the self-same way,

Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook.

by Edmund Spenser

The Shepheardes Calender: April

April: Ægloga Quarta. Thenot & Hobbinoll.

Thenot.

TEll me good Hobbinoll, what garres thee greete?

What? hath some Wolfe thy tender Lambes ytorne?

Or is thy Bagpype broke, that soundes so sweete?

Or art thou of thy loued lasse forlorne?

Or bene thine eyes attempred to the yeare,

Quenching the gasping furrowes thirst with rayne?

by Edmund Spenser

The Faerie Queene: Book I, Canto I

THE FIRST BOOKE OF THE FAERIE QUEENE

Contayning

THE LEGENDE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE

RED CROSSE, OR OF HOLINESSE

Proemi

Lo I the man, whose Muse whilome did maske,

As time her taught in lowly Shepheards weeds,

Am now enforst a far unfitter taske,

by Edmund Spenser

The Faerie Queene, Book I, Canto IV

To sinfull house of Pride, Duessa

guides the faithfull knight,

Where brothers death to wreak Sansjoy

doth chalenge him to fight.

Young knight, what euer that dost armes professe,

And through long labours huntest after fame,

Beware of fraud, beware of ficklenesse,

In choice, and change of thy deare loued Dame,

by Edmund Spenser

Prosopopoia : or, Mother Hubbards Tale

It was the month in which the righteous Maide,

That for disdaine of sinfull worlds upbraide

Fled back to heaven, whence she was first conceived,

Into her silver bowre the Sunne received;

And the hot Syrian Dog on him awayting,

After the chafed Lyons cruell bayting,

Corrupted had th' ayre with his noysome breath,

And powr'd on th' earth plague, pestilence, and death,

by Edmund Spenser

Sonnet 75

One day I wrote her name upon the strand,

But came the waves and washed it away:

Agayne I wrote it with a second hand,

But came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray.

"Vayne man," sayd she, "that doest in vaine assay.

A mortall thing so to immortalize,

For I my selve shall lyke to this decay,

and eek my name bee wyped out lykewize."

by Edmund Spenser